


Binary

by OneThousandBooksLater



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Angst, Atomic Dog, Balmain, Berluti menswear, Bodhisattva Guanyin, Bottega Veneta, Cat Apsara, China Death Robot, Crime, Daimler Cascadia, Demons, Dogs, F/F, F/M, Ford Black Ops Tuscany, Grand theft auto, Gun Violence, Homelessness, K-pop References, Longing, Love, Lust, M/M, Money, Murder, No souls for humans, Pink Kitty Heels, Robot Dogs, Serial Killer, Sex, Shit work, Soulmates, Supernatural Beings, Supernatural Orgasm, The Dragon Lady, Trans, Unhoused, chocolate cake, drug overdose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26342314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneThousandBooksLater/pseuds/OneThousandBooksLater
Summary: Sticking this into the Good Omens category, as it's the outcome of G.O. stories I wrote this past year.I started wondering what supernatural entities outside the G.O. milieu might be like.Yes, this field has been thoroughly plowed by other authors.  But why let that stop me from having fun, too, eh?If a miracle occurs and an artist thinks this might be fun to collaborate on, we can discuss commissions. . .
Comments: 23
Kudos: 6





	1. Electric Kiss

I avoid reminiscing. Any happiness was fleeting, like a puff of breath. All my memories are tinged with sadness, pain, fear, humiliation, and – most of all – anger. Anger never leaves me. So I do not revisit my past. Lessons have been learned, I know what I know, I am what I am. There is only Now.

* * *

He’s skinny as a model and nearly as tall as I am, but looks as if he was dressed by an old lady volunteer at St. Vincent de Paul. Cheap canvas sneakers, with – I am not making this up – fuzzy wool socks sagging around his ankles. Baggy khakis. How they’re staying up on his thin frame is a mystery. Duct tape, maybe. A black turtleneck (!) under a white two-sizes-too-big tank top printed with GOOD BOY crackled as if it’s been washed a thousand times. Glasses with black frames like they give out at free clinics. I am handsome. He is not. “Nice” is how women would assess him. Earnest Asian face – Korean? Wide, gently smiling mouth with generous cupid’s bow lips. Shy espresso eyes with those straight Asian black slashes for eyebrows. Thick hair parted and unsuccessfully combed to the side by a barber styling the 1950s. But the hair is pale lavender. And I know it’s not dyed.

There’s no none else in the shop, so the baristo gets right to my cappuccino as I stroll over and pull up a chair alongside him. He puts down the fork he’s been using on his chocolate cake, and we sit and stare at one another until my coffee arrives. I take a sip. Notice that he’s drinking cocoa. 

_A chocolate lover, I see._

_You’re an Other. Am I going to have to fight you?_

_Funny, that’s what we call your gang. Others. But no, combat isn’t my thing. You’re the bunch who likes to smite._

_I don’t. I’ve never smited anyone._

_Probably shouldn’t be revealing that to the likes of me now, wouldn’t you say?_

He gives me another long, intent gaze of inspection as I take another sip of cappuccino.

_What is your task?_

_I’m a tempter. What’s yours?_

_I’m a healer._

_Pretty target rich environment for both of us on this world. Been here long?_

_About 12 thousand years now. I try to forget._

_Me too. Funny we haven’t run into each other before._

_I’ve been in Asia the whole time. I came here a few months ago._

_New assignment?_

_No. I ran away._

_You _ran_ away_?_

_I . . . I just snapped._

_Know how you feel. Decided I needed a change of scene a couple years ago, myself. Came here then._

_You weren’t chastised for desertion?_

_My gang doesn’t chastise. “Punish” is the correct term._

_Aren’t you afraid?_

_If they come to collect me, I will be. In the meantime, carpe diem._

My chief job skill is sensing need and desire. He could be a space heater the way he’s radiating both. Without even thinking, I lean over and kiss him. His lips are soft and satiny and delicious. And cold as ice. I lightly run my tongue around them, then nibble the lower one. He stiffens and tries to pull back, but my hand on the back of his neck holds him close. And then, to my utter astonishment, he raises his hand, runs his fingers through my hair as he leans in, opens his mouth and kisses me back. I have never felt such pleasure.

_Hey! Knock it off, you two! This is a Christian establishment!_

* * *

We rocket up on opposite sides of the little table. I head for the baristo, but the Other grabs my hand and pulls me out the entry. Then stands on the sidewalk as if unsure where to go next. So I pull _him_ off to where my car is parked in what was marked as a loading zone before I arrived and which will be so marked again after we drive off. Open the passenger door and push him inside. Walk around the front, open the door to a screech of brakes and a horn honk behind me.

_Put on your seat belt._

_A Subaru Forester? You’re dressed like an investment banker, and you’re driving this?_

_I’d like to drive a Tesla like the other hedgies. But experience has taught me to maintain a low profile._

He nods in understanding. We ride in silence to the hotel. I enter the underground parking ramp, give the key to the attendant. The security valet escorts us to the private penthouse elevator and unlocks it for us. On the way up I remove my tie, unbutton my jacket, vest, shirt. No, I don’t wear an undershirt. We don’t exude anything.

We barely make it across the entryway and through the door. Once we’re in the little hallway, he strips off his t-neck and tank top. As I push him against the wall, I feel cold arms slip under my shirt and pull me tight against his skinny body. He’s hypothermic-level chill and stiff as a broomstick beneath his trousers. I’ve never had an erection before, ever. Until now. The mere frottage is enough for both of us to come inside our pants. And come, and come, and come. . . He’s moaning, I’m gasping like a steam engine going up grade. This goes on until the evening deepens into night. If we were human, we’d be drained like shrunken raisins and exhausted. But that doesn’t happen to us. Finally we’re able to disengage and stand shoulder to shoulder, backs to the wall.

* * *

The Minds perceive a pulse from connecting binaries. Orders diffuse. Entities evaporate from the planet. One pays a final visit before departing.

* * *

Apart from the tiny green exit light, it’s now dark in the hallway. Then something even darker blooms on the wall opposite us. Inky tentacles of black fog stream and writhe around a hungry, sucking vortex. Terror paralyzes me. I can’t even scream. I struggle to push the Other behind me, but it’s as if I’m trapped in gelatin and cannot move.

_We are abandoning this world. You must stay._

The darkness contracts. Just before it vanishes into a point, a tendril snakes out and touches me. I feel as if I have been tossed into a vat of acid. _Now_ the screaming is unleashed.

Must get out of the cursed hallway. I drag him with me as I stagger into the suite and collapse onto the carpet. Twin tides of humiliation and despair surge through me. Then anger ignites and burns them away. I’m on fire inside and out.

My clothing vanishes. A body as muscular and cold as a serpent lies atop me. Icy fingers glide through my hair. Shreds of pain are pulled out of me like rags until the agony is gone. 

_How did you do that?_

_Told you. I’m a healer._

I roll over, gaze into eyes that are as disturbingly dark as Abyss. I can’t help shuddering.

_My eyes frighten you._

_So black._

He continues to stroke my hair.

_Dark brown, really. I like your eyes. Their pale lichen green is quite striking. There are some fine Song celadon pieces in the museum that are the color of your eyes._

_We’ll have to go there together some time. You can show me._

_I would like that._

I can’t believe we’re having this surreal little chat.

_Who was that apparition?_

_Abyss. Our commander._

_I understood what it said. You are being abandoned here. Does that mean this world is terminal?_

_No idea. Your crew’s gone, too?_

He leans back and looks around, as if trying to catch a scent.

_I feel . . . alone. Except for you._

His face twists with sadness in the faint glow of the city lights coming through the window.

_At least your commander told you everyone was leaving._

_But couldn’t resist giving me a little parting spank for getting caught fucking the enemy._

_Am I still an enemy?_

I shake my head.

_No._

_You won’t leave me? Tell me you won’t leave me!_

Now he’s the one shuddering as he clutches me. I slip my arms around him and hold him as tightly as I can. My lips nuzzle soft hair. I murmur into a cold ear.

_No way I could separate from you._

_Are we doomed?_

_Do you feel doomed?_

_No._

He suddenly relaxes, like ice melting into water.

_No. I don’t feel doomed at all._

* * *

Mood music: EXO Electric Kiss

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BC19fhyTG_M


	2. Gangnam Trans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mood music for this one is Monster by EXO.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KSH-FVVtTf0

[ ](https://imgur.com/RiKvYaW)

I love the feel of his body atop me – as if I’m under a load of soft ice cream. A cold hand strokes through my hair as his lips nuzzle the back of my neck. He rolls off me slightly and I feel chilly fingers caress my ribs, then slide down to explore between my ass cheeks. I never allow anyone to touch me if I can avoid it, and here I am, letting the enemy feel around in my crack.

_You don’t have an asshole, either._

_Not like we need one._

_No._

A cold hand is now cupping my balls. I roll onto my side and raise a leg. He gets the hint, and begins a hand job. I can feel his own erection stiffening against me. He maneuvers around to face me and pushes me onto my back, straddles my thighs. Leans forward and runs an icy hand over my chest.

_I like that you are hairy. And warm. It is soothing to pet you._

I grab him and pull him close. We roll around on the carpet, frantically clutching and jerking and writhing like mating snakes, until paroxysm releases us into ecstasy.

* * *

Our time compression faculty evidently kicked in, as it’s hours later when we finally come out of it and roll apart. Grey pre-dawn instead of night outside the windows. I stand and give him a hand up, we go sit on the one piece of furniture that I own - a suede Ducaroy Togo sofa placed toward the view over the city and bay.

_It’s near the time I must go to work._

_You’re joking._

_No. It would cause difficulty if I did not show up. They are the type of humans that I am supposed to encourage. Not distress._

_Where exactly to you work?_

_The little grocery store on _____________._

_The place run by that Korean/Black couple?_

_Yes. I do the dawn to early afternoon shift. Their daughter helps me out during the luncheon hours._

_Well, we’d better get going, then, or you’ll be late._

He stands and transmogrifies back into his Goodwill bags, this time with a faded ugly army green t-shirt with some cracked color print under an equally faded and worn denim shirt, worn tails out. 

_You really go for the homeless tweaker look, don’t you?_

_It seems to be effective camouflage._

I resume my London banker gear. We stand together in silence for a moment. I really want to kiss him. His fathomless eyes lock onto mine.

_Do not tempt me. I will succumb. And then I will not like myself._

_As you wish. But we should probably at least introduce ourselves. My name is Detlef. Just Detlef._

_I’m Lee._

_Just Lee?_

_It works for both front and back names. Where do you work?_

_I’m one of the hedgies at Global Investment Services._

Without further ado we make our way to the basement and roll off in the Subaru to our respective places of employment.

* * *

It’s mid-afternoon and we’re expecting an important new Chinese client when Sharmayne, my assistant, messages me on the desk screen.

_Security says there’s someone who wants to see you. No appointment._

She switches the screen to one of the security cams. And there stands Lee. He looks up at the camera. Same lilac hair unsuccessfully plastered into an Elvis cut, but otherwise . . .

_Send him up._

Several minutes later, what Sharmayne escorts through the cubicle farm and into my office:

A tall beanpole wearing a long-sleeved lime green cashmere sweater, tight enough to make him look sprayed with green flocking. Tucked into matching lime Italian-cut gangster trousers, sans belt. Eschewing the marshmallow-and-gummy-candy sneakers that designers like to accessorize such a getup, he’s gone for shiny blue Italian Chelsea boots that not only match the blue Chanel minibag he’s got draped from one shoulder, but pick up as well the blue in the dial of the white gold Rolex Sky-Dweller. Again eschewing the clichéd, instead of a pearl necklace he’s gone for face jewelry – some sort of complicated white metal labret with a lip cuff and two delicate sparkling chains attached to a Deco platinum and carved imperial jade pendant suspended from his right ear. He’s wearing make-up – rosy lip gloss with professional-quality eyes. I could eat him. Sharmayne struggles to suppress the look she’d love to be giving me as she exits back to her reception desk.

_I thought I should dress up a bit, or they wouldn’t let me in._

I rise from my chair as he walks over and stands next to me behind my desk. I’m struggling between embracing him or stating that I have a meeting imminent with my boss and an important customer we’re trying to recruit, when boss David walks in. Escorting a plump but sternly authoritarian-looking Chinese man who appears to be in his eighties, still resolutely clinging to the standard cadre black suit, white shirt, and skinny dark tie. Albeit better tailored now. I recall my one visit to Beijing in the winter of 1987, when tatty long underwear still peeked out from under dress shirt cuffs.

They stop short, but swiftly manage to control their surprise at seeing grasshopper Lee.

_Mr. Choi, may I present Detlef and-_

I fill the gap, gesture towards Lee.

_Mr. Lee._

The old gent turns to David, growls in oddly accented Mandarin:

_A Korean ladyboy? On your staff?_

Before David can reply, Lee glances at me, then addresses Choi in a dialect I do not understand.

The effect on the old gent is dramatic. He pivots to Lee and rattles off something.

Lee looks him dead in the eye with those espresso irises, murmurs a short reply in the same dialect.

The ensuing silence, as they say, is deafening.

Choi was a healthy tan when he came in, but his facial skin is turning the color of cold café au lait. Heavy on the lait. And getting noticeably clammy, although he manages to maintain his erect posture.

David takes charge.

_Please have a seat, Mr. Choi._

He escorts Choi to one of the plump new Chesterfield leather chairs we just installed throughout the executive offices. I sit behind my desk, Lee remaining standing. Sharmayne comes in to deliver a tray with Golden Monkey tea and small plates of smoked salmon and rice cracker snacks. Pours out four perfectly brewed cups, places them upon lace doilies before each of us. Choi’s still looking shaky, however, so I open a lower desk drawer and extract a new bottle of Kweichow moutai and four small tulip glasses, crack open the bottle and pour shots. David presents one to Choi, hands another to Lee, then seats himself in the other chair in front of my desk. Raises his glass, says “Ganbei!” despite the grim atmosphere. David and I take a hearty sip, but Choi and Lee down theirs in one toss. Makes my throat raw just to see it. Lee then bows slightly to Choi and David:

_It is an honor to meet you. I must go._

It’s a nice bit of studied insolence. Not so much the courteous honored-to-meet-you bit, but the body language that makes the meaning of the following terse three words abundantly clear: “I’m not leaving because I feel out of place, but because I have more important things to do.” And without further ado, he sets down his empty glass and strides out of the room. We hear a murmured, “Thank you, Ms. Sharmayne,” and the door softly opening and closing as she escorts him out.

There is a good quarter minute of uneasy silence. Then Choi leans forward and puts his hands on my desk.

_He is Yakuza?_

_No._

_Triad?_

_No._

I don’t mention Jopok.

_Dangerous?_

I pause to consider what to reply to this. How to describe a being that can dissociate matter with a mere thought but is currently working as a counter clerk in a convenience store.

_I’d say it depends who you are._

I pour Choi another shot. He takes the glass and leans back in his chair. I push a snack plate and chopsticks forward, thinking he could use something to buffer that moutai. He takes a piece and chomps it down. Then another. David in the meantime is radiating panic about imminent loss of a whale client.


	3. Do You Love Me

[ ](https://imgur.com/FjoduIL)

The barista sees me coming through the hotel coffee shop entrance, so by the time I find my way to Lee’s corner booth the server is following me with my cappuccino. As I slide in opposite him, she places the cup & saucer onto a lace mat, and I slip the usual pair of crisp twenties for her and the barista.

Last year the hotel redecorated the café in an Art Nouveau theme. The little gilded verdigris booths around the walls are now high-backed, illuminated by frosted lily wall lamps. Trés discreet. He’s about finished with his Sachertorte and cocoa, both heavy on the dollops of whipped cream. Has got cream on his upper lip.

_You’ve got whipped cream on your lip._

I gesture to the right. He opens his mouth, extends his tongue and slowly licks off the cream. My penis twitches.

_Stop that. Use the damned napkin._

The ghost of a sly smile flits across his lips before he speaks.

_What was Mr. Choi seeing you about, if I may inquire?_

_The usual. Moving money around without losing most of it to confiscation and bribery. His granddaughter has gotten herself in a jam on some cryptocurrency pyramid scheme. The Chinese have rounded up most of the perps, but she’s got enough brains to stay dark._

_How much is at stake?_

_One point two billion dollars._

He doesn’t bat an eye, so I continue.

_Just what did you say to him that shook him up so badly?_

_You heard his remark about the Korean ladyboy, yes?_

_Yeah. My Mandarin isn’t the greatest when it comes to accents, but I got that._

_I told him I am your lover. In the Fujian dialect in which I guessed he might have been raised. He asked where I learned that? And I told him there is only one place._

_And that place is?_

_What do you know about Fujian?_

_Shoe manufacturing capital of the world. On the mainland opposite Taiwan. Home to Hakka Chinese, the Jews of Asia. Dialects unintelligible to Mandarin speakers. History of smuggling, piracy, formidable military. Lots of new growth in the last 50 years. Accompanied by the usual levels of graft. Big scandal over Lai Changxing. Executions and labor camp sentences handed out right and left._

_Yes. You’ve done some homework._

_Guessing one doesn’t speak the lingo unless one was raised there?_

_Among the old people, yes. It was a badge of solidarity. Because many were sent abroad to earn their fortunes and send remittances back home. Mr. Choi comes from a Fujian village. One renowned for its protectors of ethnic solidarity. Or perhaps “enforcers” would be the more appropriate term._

_Chinese version of Sicilian Mafia?_

_Yes. If you add wushu._

_Well that certainly describes the granddaughter. She and two lawyer and banker friends formed a syndicate. They set up nearly a thousand shell companies over the years and siphoned off the cash. And weren’t suspected of anything because they are women._

_Human males just cannot believe that women are as ruthless and clever as themselves. Always a surprise to them when the trap springs. The Hakka never practiced foot binding. And the founder of White Crane wushu was a Fujian woman._

He finishes his cake and cocoa, and leans back in the booth.

_I need your help._

_Money?_

_No. The daughter of the couple I work for wound up in the hospital this afternoon. Drug overdose. She’s in a coma. They think she suffered hypoxia. Likely to have brain damage if she revives. I want you to help me go to her late tonight. She’s in intensive care, but after midnight there will be fewer people present. You can divert humans, yes?_

_Of course._

_Then you can stand guard while I see if she can be healed. Normally I would not interfere. But she was such a beautiful young human, seeing her so needlessly destroyed offends me._

_You must get offended a lot._

_Since forever. I make an effort to not remember._

_Same here. This really is a hell world, isn’t it?_

_It must be. And now they have abandoned us here._

_Well, at least we won’t get out tails twisted when we fuck up, eh? Speaking of which, let’s go upstairs. We have a few happy hours to spend before we go visit your invalid._

He takes my hand as we walk out, no doubt providing tasty juice for the hotel staff grapevine. We rocket out of the elevator, through the cursed hallway, and actually manage to fling ourselves onto the bed this time.

* * *

We park in the underground garage, and in the elevator to the emergency room transform into scrubs-and-badge wearing staff. Lee’s hair turns black under his cap. We’re both wearing dorky safety glasses, and I’m carrying a phlebotomy tray. We ooze through the scrum and up the elevator to the girl’s ICU, where things are much quieter and the few staff are busy monitoring computers instead of running around. We slip unnoticed into her section of the room and pull the curtain. I keep watch at the door in case anyone approaches and needs to unaccountably decide to go elsewhere.

Lee transforms his hair and garments yet again as he floats horizontally over the unconscious young woman. Now he’s garbed in a long filmy white gown and robe, black hair in a topknot surrounded by a gold crown with an image of Buddha. A snakelike scarf floats around his shoulders and arms as if it has a life of its own. He places his hands alongside the girl’s head, and remains floating for over two hours. 

She opens her eyes, gasps. 

_An angel!_

He places fingers over her lips, kisses her forehead, whispers,

_You must sleep._

Her eyes close as she dozes off. I notice one of the screens is now showing increased activity in the lines on the graph.

_Lee, we need to get out of here. Quick._

_Yes._

He’s back in his scrubs, and we’re out the door and down a stairway as a nurse behind the monitoring desk rises in her chair and gets on her phone.

Lee stumbles on the stairs, and I catch him.

_Hold onto me. I feel weak._

We work our way back down to the garage. I open the passenger door, he collapses into the seat. Once I’m inside, I reach over and fasten his seat belt, then resume my previous costume. He hesitates a moment, then does likewise, back into lilac-haired Grasshopper Lee. During the long drive back to the hotel he says nothing. From the car to the private elevator I keep an arm around his waist as he puts a hand on my shoulder and leans on me, no doubt providing yet more fodder for staff fairytales. ( _“Totally zonked. No alcohol fumes. Must have been drugs.”_ )

And shortly, we’re once again naked in bed. He lies limp on his back.

_I’ve never healed a brain before. Wasn’t sure I could do it. Fortunately the connections were mostly still there. I just had to feel along and revive them._

_You think she’ll be the same as before?_

_Doubtful. It will be interesting to see what she’s like now. I hope she’s still sweet and kind._

_What about you? You’re like a sack of dead mice._

_Do you love me?_

_What kind of question is that? We just met yesterday. Of course I don’t love you._

_Would you kiss me and touch me as if you did?_

_No problem. With pleasure._

Lust rises to the occasion. When we come to sprawled in a sideways 69 at early dawn, he’s fresh as a daisy.

* * *

_I still have to open the store and man the counter._

_No worries. Think the daughter will be discharged from the hospital?_

_They can’t afford to keep her there if she’s recovered._

_Any idea who gave her the OD?_

_It can only have been the boyfriend._

_Street punk?_

_Frat boy prick._

_Hmmm. Find out where he lives._

_I already know. Condo on ________. Drives a big black truck his parents gave him as a reward for graduating from college this year._

_What model?_

_Ford F250 Black Ops._

_That’s a hundred grand._

_He also still has the Focus ST they gave him when he started school. Blue. She was pulled out of a little blue car and left on the sidewalk half a block from the ER, but that’s all anybody saw before it took off. Nobody got the license or could describe the driver other than the usual jeans, hoodie, and dark glasses. Some thought it was a woman. Maybe some security cam caught something._

_The police will let it drop down in the queue if she doesn’t die._

_Let’s hope so. The Paks are ambivalent about the police._

I let that pass. It was obvious from the hospital visit that Ms. Pak has a black relative.

_I’ll swing by when your shift ends._

_Might need to work a double._

_Call when you’re ready. I’ll be there._

This should be an easy mouse to catch. I make a call to Aunt Gladys.


	4. Barista

The Paks’ daughter is with Lee behind the store counter.

_Joy, this is my friend Detlef._

_Pleased to meet you, Ms. Pak. Didn’t you just get out of the hospital?_

A red undertone blooms on her dusky face.

_Yes. But I feel fine. Mon and Dad want me to rest in my room. But . . . but . . ._

And she starts to cry.

Lee gets on his phone.

_Josephine, can you run the counter? My friend and I would like to take Joy out for a piece of chocolate cake at Sacred Grounds._

Two minutes later Joy’s mother bustles through the staff door. She stands and gives me the up-and-down. Woman is no fool. Suspicion radiates off her like oily fumes. Lee takes my hand.

_Josephine, this is my friend Detlef. Handsome, isn’t he?_

_Handsome is as handsome does._ (A stern glare.) _You some kind of executive?_

_I’m a hedge fund manager._

She regards me with the same sort of expression as if I’d said, “Drug kingpin.” As I said, woman’s no fool.

_You two on the down low?_

_Mom!_

_We are lovers, yes._

A lengthy silence.

_You bring her back in an hour, you hear?_

* * *

The coffee shop, as usual, is deserted. The woman barista is on duty this evening.

_Lee! Oh, I’m so happy you came back. I want to apologize to you for what happened the other night. . ._

And now _she_ starts to cry.

Lee turns, walks back to the door, and flips the sign to “Closed.” Slips behind the counter and puts an arm around the barista’s shoulders.

_Ms. Linda, come sit with us. You must tell us what is troubling you._

Mr. Healer’s magic touch seems to have an effect. She stops the sobbing. Joy puts her arm through Linda’s as we all go to the booth in the Catholic corner featuring a giant plaster statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe - old and a bit battered, but impressive still in its colorful paint and gilding. I finger the rainbow of rosaries festooning her prayerful hands. 

_Plastic?_

Linda grimaces.

 _Someone stole the nice cut glass rosary. So I ordered a gross of plastic ones from China. They can just take one of these now if they need one._ (A small hollow laugh.) _Plus,_ _they glow in the dark._

Three of us seat ourselves, but Lee remains standing.

_Can we have some chocolate cake? I can go cut pieces._

_Bring the whole cake, Lee. It’s on the house._

He waltzes off and returns with the cake pedestal and requisite plates, cutlery, and paper napkins.

_Detlef, can I get you a cappuccino?_

_Sure. Cake’s not my thing._

Linda half rises, but Lee gestures her to remain seated as he goes off and works the espresso machine. He returns shortly and deposits a cup in front of me with an angel wing depicted in the foam. Again that ghost of a sly smile. I take a sip.

_Nice. Thanks._

Linda carves up the day’s remainder of the cake into three hefty pieces. Hands out the plates and takes a giant forkful herself.

_Mm. Just what the doctor ordered. I never tire of this cake. Even if I do bake it myself._

Some minutes of determined consumption. Then, once the dopamine is kicking in,

_Where did you learn to work an espresso machine, Lee?_

_I work at the convenience store on ____________. Ms. Pak’s parents own it. Linda, meet Joy Pak. Joy, meet Linda. Linda owns this coffee shop._

_Not for much longer, I’m afraid. We’re barely making expenses. And I fired my f-f-fian. . ._

Choking up again. Lee reaches over and touches her fork hand.

_Brad was your fiancé? I did not know that._

_We go to the same church. I was so thrilled when he asked me to marry him! But things started to go bad when we formed the partnership to start this coffee shop. It was my idea. And my money. My uncle left me an inheritance. But Brad seemed to think he was entitled to have the final say in any decisions. Because women should be subservient to men, and he was head of our household. Even though we weren’t even married yet. The last six months have been hell._

_Could have been worse. You could have married the s.o.b. and been stuck with him for life. Or lose everything in a nasty divorce._

She looks at me as if I’d thrown a pail of water over her. Then her face changes.

 _You’re right. He is a holier-than-thou bully. I know that now._ (Insert despairing head shaking here.) _What was I thinking?_

I shrug.

_Love is blind. What you need to be worrying about now is that business partnership. Can he demand a payout?_

She goes white. Lee places his hand upon hers again and leaves it there this time, meanwhile continuing to wolf forkfuls of cake with his other hand.

_Oh god. It was his lawyer who drew up the partnership papers. And there’s a mortgage. And I have to find another barista. I can’t keep working fifteen-hour days. But I barely have enough money to pay the going rate. . ._

She’s starting to gasp again. Joy pipes up.

_I can be your barista. I need to get out of mom and dad’s store. I don’t think I can face the next semester if all have to look forward to is store and classes. Please, let me work here._

_Where are you going to school?_

_The community college. Mom and dad are struggling to get my brother through the U. He’s in engineering. There’s not much money left for me._

_What are you majoring in?_

_I want to be a teacher. For elementary or grade school. But right now I’m just taking boring basic courses. It’s like still being stuck in high school. Only worse. Fuck English Lit._

Forever the bad fairy at the feast, I interject:

_You can’t have a barista job if the place is going out of business._

Silence all around. I let that sink in a bit deeper before continuing:

_Business investment is my realm of expertise. I’d like to see that partnership agreement. And mortgage._

I look around, like a realtor doing a hasty appraisal. Or a mobster in a protection racket.

_You could make this a popular little money-maker. But you’d have to let me be a major investor. And it will take some serious renovation. And marketing. I have the funds. And the connections to the professionals you’d need to consult – a designer architect, for example._

_Why would you do this?_

_Because Lee cares about you and Joy. And - as he is quick to tell absolutely everyone - he is my lover._

Lee murmurs,

_Brad said I was a homo junkie prostitute, didn’t he._

A scarlet flush rises on Linda’s face. She’s getting quite the emotional workout this evening.

_Yes. How did you know that?_

_I heard him as I stood outside the door the other evening. My hearing is very keen._

_We had a terrible argument. I told him he’d just driven away one of our most faithful customers, that there was no way you were . . . you were . . ._

Bad Fairy interjects once again:

_Lee pushes all the stereotype buttons. Long sleeves. Thin. Shabby clothes. Casually picked up by an older man._

_Only if you’re a judgmental jerk like Brad! Lee, I never thought any of those awful things about you. You’re quiet and you mind your own business. And I don’t care if you’re gay._

Lee smiles.

 _It’s all right. I’m used to people thinking things about me._ (He nods in Joy’s direction.) _Joy’s mother thinks I’m slow._

_She does not!_

_I heard her. She was arguing with your father in the back room._

He continues, in an excellent imitation of Josephine’s contralto:

 _Now you listen to me. That boy may be a bit slow, but he’s honest. He shows up on time. Hasn’t missed a day yet. And he don’t eat half the stock of burritos. Or sass the customers. So don’t you go dissin’ him ‘bout the way he dresses. HIs clothes are clean and he don’t smell. So I don’t wanna hear you_ _makin’ him feel bad with so much as_ _one. lone. remark. 'bout him shoppin’ in the Goodwill dumpster or somethin'._

_Christ, Lee, that’s one hell of a performance review. I’ve had staff that I _wished_ measured up to those marks._

_I did go out and buy a nice plaid shirt from the St. Vincent’s store. It’s almost new._

Lee’s as charming as a child when he laughs. It totally dissipates the clouds of gloom.

_Well. If you three have survived the cake orgy, Lee and I must be getting away. Joy, we’ll escort you home. Linda, round up those documents. I’ll send someone by tomorrow._

_Can I have a box for the rest of my cake?_

_Of course, Joy. I’m glad you like it. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. She used to work in a fancy hotel. You need French chocolate to make it._

* * *

Lee gives me a questioning look as we drive off in a direction opposite the way back to the hotel.

_We’re going to a little meeting with Joy’s ex-boyfriend. First we have to pick up Aunt Gladys. I think you’ll like her._


	5. Aunt Gladys

We’re back in the Forester after walking Joy home, on our way to pick up Aunt Gladys. 

_The kid have anything to say about what the boyfriend did to her?_

_Yes. We talked for quite a while before you came. She tells me things that she won’t confide to her parents. She feels as Linda does – stupid and ashamed for attaching herself to such an unworthy male._

_Humans are twisted. Do you blame yourself for what your abusers do?_

He’s silent for a long while. Then:

_I used to. Then I ran away._

His breathing has become rapid and shallow and gasping. I pull over into the first vacant spot and change the license plate to match the handicapped zoning. Get out, run around the front, and jerk Lee out of the passenger seat. He’s sobbing now. I hold him in a viselike hug.

_Lee. Lee. You’re here now. With me. They’re gone. You’re safe. Be here, now._

Gradually he quiets. Slips his arms under my suit jacket and hugs me back, rubbing his face against the top of my shoulder. I stroke his hair.

_Kiss me, Detlef._

No problem, dude. We’re a half minute into it when a passing car gives a long, unfriendly honk. I hold Lee’s face in my hands.

_Pull yourself together. Gladys doesn’t like to be kept waiting. And we need to switch our look to something gangsterish._

We draw apart. I get rid of the suit coat, vest, and tie, morph into a dark leather jacket, black knit watch cap. Rose-tinted Maui Jim sunglasses with black frames. Black leather serial killer gloves. Grow a beard. Change the Subaru paint to black and darken the glass.

Lee, however, becomes a disturbing sight. Still six feet tall and thin. Hair now a glossy black, cut into a thick short precision bob with bangs just over the eyebrows. Mask-like geisha makeup – corpse white, smoky shadowed black eyes with a sprinkling of red dust, lips a greasy glossy red. She’s a woman now – ballerina breasts under a skintight high-collared black and scarlet brocade jacket; long slim legs in black leggings and – of all things – black Converse hightops. A long dark Bottega Veneta woven coat that resembles a leather version of the famous Chinese jade burial suits. Hands in white kidskin gloves. What makes her look creepy as fuck is the dark dead-eyed stare in the cocked head, half-folded arms lifted to chest height like a posed puppet or doll. And the 40-centimeter steel sushi knife she’s pulled out of her sleeve.

_That’ll do. You’re scaring the fuck out of _me_._

_I have been in opera._

We resume our journey until we reach a nice hillside suburban home up a secluded hedged drive. Standing in the entry as we pull up is a milk chocolate fifty-ish woman coming in at around a deuce. Packed into a vanilla church lady usher suit that was probably purchased in the eighties, judging from the shoulder pads. Pink patent leather kitten heels. Hoop earrings. Big rose-tinted glasses. White kid gloves. What moves her out of church is the creamy Michael Jackson fedora with a pink leopard skin band matching the long rose silk leopard print scarf – as well as what’s inside the huge bubblegum pink Telfar shopping bag she’s toting from one shoulder, and I’m not talking about the family-size bag of strawberry hard candies, the box of tissues, or the pocket-size New Testament.

We both hop out. I escort Gladys to the passenger side.

_Bout time you got here._

_Gladys, may I present my new associate, Lee._

A brief stare of appraisal. Then:

_You’re something, honey. And all this while I thought Detlef was on the down low. Careful with this bag, now._

She hands over the giant bag, which Lee gently deposits on the back seat. Gladys gets comfortable and puts on her seat belt. Lee goes round and gracefully climbs into the back seat on the driver’s side.

We make our way to the southeast of the city, to a development stuffed with underwater mortgages and vacant properties. Pull up to the center house in a set of three halfway down a deserted side street with realtor signs in the weed-overgrown yards and a dozen partially built abandoned lots.

* * *

_Hands on the table, Goro._

We make our entry, Gladys with the .45 pistol and suppressor from her tote, arms braced and aiming it at Goro.

Lee does her Sexy China Doll Death Robot as she moves around behind Gladys and me toward where the boyfriend is seated. Goro sits at the opposite end of the dining table from us, motionless as a rat confronted by a hungry cat, barely breathing, having cued completely into the death part. Dumbass Jared, however, grins as if bestowing appreciation and approval on a babe he deems worthy. Right up to when she sidles up and smoothly wrenches his arms behind the chair back and handcuffs him.

I do the talking.

_Goro. I thought our teams had an agreement about fentanyl. And yet, here you are. Adulterating our branded packets._

This is undeniable, the evidence is right there on the table, so he prudently says nothing. 

_Did Jared, here, tell you he nearly killed his girlfriend with your shit?_

That gets a reaction.

_You fucking gave this shit to your_ girlfriend_?_

_I . . . I thought you said it was better than the usual stuff._

Goro just stares at him with disbelieving contempt, then returns focus back where it belongs - on Gladys. Specifically, her .45.

I nod to Lee.

_Slide his phone over here._

She gives it a hand flick and it scoots across the table. 

_What’s the code, Goro._

_One six one eight oh three three._

_The Golden Ratio._

_I was a math major in school._

_How long have you been messing with our product?_

_Not quite two months. Look, I didn’t have a choice._

I nod to Gladys.

_How many deaths?_

_Three, so far as I know. Not counting that fine girl’s near-death experience._

_So you used to be a mathematician. From now on, you will “used to be” a drug dealer. We’ll send all your friends the announcement about your retirement from the field._

And Gladys shoots him in the forehead. The fat .45 caliber at such close range makes a bit of a mess. Jared screams and struggles in the chair. Lee gives him a hearty slap to the face. Droplets of blood from the corner of his mouth fall onto the piss stain spreading across his crotch.

Gladys hands me the gun. I take it around to Jared’s chair. Lee releases his right hand from the cuffs, keeps his other arm twisted into an agonizing lock. I fold his hand around the pistol grip, force his index finger against the trigger, and fire two more shots into Goro. That suppressor works like a dream. It’s only a bit warm as I remove it and let the gun fall onto the carpet. Lee has in the meantime refastened Jared’s arm back into the cuffs - easily accomplished because he looks as if he’s about to faint. The room stinks of powder, urine, and the metallic smell of blood. I use Goro’s phone to snap a few pics to send to his network and select sites on the dark web, pull out a Faraday pouch to slip the phone into, then pocket it. Gladys holds up the suppressor’s zippered storage pouch and hands it to me as I return to her side of the table. Safely stowed, the pouch is returned to her tote bag.

_Bout time for a new gun anyways._

_I’ve got a recent Sig Sauer I think you’ll like._

I walk over to the boyfriend, grab a handful of his hair to tilt his head upward to assist him in maintaining focus as I speak. 

_Now Jared, I want you to be perfectly clear on this, so listen up. Between your excretions and fingerprints on the gun_ (not likely, actually, despite crime dramas, but Jared probably doesn’t know that) _, there’s plenty of DNA evidence to connect you to this crime. And a motive. Goro’s shit nearly killed your sweet girlfriend. Guessing even your average police detective will be able to connect the dots between the little blue car caught on street cams as the driver threw that girl off near the hospital, and the little blue car that someone will report was parked out front here. Your realtor daddy isn’t going to get you out of this one. You’ll do pound-me-in-the ass time. Even if some big expensive attorney manages to whittle it down from first degree to self-defense._ (I gesture to what’s on the table.) _Plus, drug dealing is still a felony._

Jared looks as if he’s about to faint. 

_Did you hear me, Jared._

_Uh-huh._

_Say, “Yes, I heard you.”_

_Yes, I heard you._

_Good. Now we’re going to take a ride. You’ll be in the trunk. It will be a bit uncomfortable, but console yourself by contemplating the fact that you’re still alive._

I go through Goro’s pockets, extract his keys and wallet. Nothing else of immediate interest in the pockets, but I put the odds and ends into a plastic bag, nonetheless. Lee and I hustle Jared off into the attached garage, wherein is parked a sleek silver Lexus sedan. Goro, like every good gangster, has a roll of duct tape in the trunk, which we use to bind and gag Jared. I remove his wallet, keys, and phone from his jacket pocket. The phone joins Goro’s in the Faraday pouch. 

Goro has definitely been around the block, has a roll of plastic sheeting in the trunk as well. I spread the sheeting, shove and stuff Jared in, slam the trunk closed. Hand the Subaru key to Lee, who trots back to the waiting Aunt Gladys, who’s no doubt playing some game on her Switch instead of regretting she’s given up smoking as a relaxing way to kill time. A few minutes later I hear the Forester take off down the street. I materialize my own leather shopping bag and make a brisk search of the house, finding Goro’s laptop, router, all the various handgun and cash stashes, and opening the safe to find a pile more. Make one final check on the scene of the crime – Goro’s still dead - then back to the garage. Toss the bag onto back floor behind the driver's seat, making sure its contents aren’t visible. Pause to discover if there’s a tracking device on the car, but I don’t sense one. The automatic garage door opens without so much as a creak as I ease the Lexus through it and out onto the street. 

I lower the window on the approach to a gray Jeep Compass parked about 6 lots ahead on the opposite side of the pavement. Toss Jared’s keys to the driver as I pass. She misses the catch, scowls back at me as she climbs out to pick up the keys. I watch in the rear view as the jeep moves off and stops alongside Jared's blue Ford. Driver hops out and gets into the Ford; a short man in a backwards baseball cap exits the Jeep’s passenger side, trots around the front, jumps in, and drives off toward the turnaround at the end of the lane. The Ford leisurely follows far behind me and drops back out of sight as we hit the freeway. We’re all going to the same place, no need to stay close. I lose the hat, glasses, and beard. Drive along as just another garden-variety middle-aged white executive until arriving at our destination. An executive with a body in the trunk instead of golf clubs, and a tote full of guns and cash.


	6. Chop Shop

The gate guard lets the boss know who’s coming, presses the switch to let the electric gate slide open. I maneuver the Lexus around the vast concrete lot to the big corrugated entrance for the intake garage. While the door clanks slowly upward, I hop out and open the trunk. Lean down and give Jared some advice as I carefully pull the duct tape from his bruised mouth. No point in being unnecessarily harsh.

_Listen up. They don’t like cocky white boys here. Don’t even drop a hint that you need to be out of state because of a murder rap. There are people here who’d rat you out for a tube of Sensodyne toothpaste. And definitely don’t let on that you gave your girlfriend China White and left her to die. They respect their women. Stay humble, stay alive. Repeat that._

_Stay humble, stay alive._

_Also, it’s prudent to use the word “Sir” in this organization._

_Noted. . . . Sir._

_Say your mantra one more time._

_Stay humble, stay alive. Sir._

_Don’t forget it for one. single. second._

While we’ve been chatting, I’ve hauled his legs out and cut off the tape with the knife that appears when I need it.

_Lean over so I can cut your hands free._

By this time the valet crew has arrived. Two of them grab Jared’s arms and hustle his unsteady self into the garage. Before handing off the key, I open the passenger door, produce a messenger bag, put Goro’s laptop and router into it, and sling it over my shoulder. Grab the tote full of loot and follow Jared as the Lexus is maneuvered inside behind us and the corrugated door rumbles down.

Waiting for us is a tall Mexican man – Ramon - and a healthy young blonde in her early 30s – Jenny. I hand off the tote to Ramon.

There’s $127,000 in the bag. There was $127,480, but I subtracted the stack of twenties to clean up and use for tips. Goro’s loot also contains a couple of decent .9mm semi-automatics and an actual Colt .45 revolver - a vintage second generation Buntline Special. I’d included the boxes of .45 ammo, figuring it was harder to find. The Japanese and their enthusiasm for American culture. Goro loved cowboys and Westerns, Wyatt Earp in particular. An entertaining human. I’m slightly sad that, although he was perfectly clear where the line was drawn, he crossed it anyway, and Aunt Gladys had to be called in to terminate his career.

_Ay, Caramba._

Ramon grins as he extracts the big .45, points it into the air for all to admire as he turns it about and inspects it, then carefully lays it back into the bag. Jerks his head toward his little glass enclosure of an office as he hands the tote to one of the subordinates, who trots off with the briskness of a lieutenant keen for promotion. Suspicion that Ramon would appreciate the Colt? Confirmed. Am guessing he knows where to get a custom tooled leather cross draw holster, too. Also.

Time to introduce the new recruit to the auto recycling business.

_Ramon, Jenny, may I introduce Jared, the new hire._

_Jared, meet Ramon Rodriguez, your new boss._

Ramon does not offer his hand, regards Jared as one might a slab of questionable fish.

_Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rodriguez. Sir._

_Jenny here will be one of your training supervisors._

_Pleased to meet you, Ms. Jenny._

_Jesus, Dude, you stink of piss. And who did that to your face?_

Jared turns scarlet. But then his attention focuses with unconcealed dismay upon the truck in the background.

_Is that my truck?_

I give him the sad news.

_It _was_ your truck. It’s now your tuition for your training coursework. You’ll be able to enjoy driving it for one last trip, however, as it goes to its new location._

I nod to the other side of the garage.

_Now, that blue car over there being disassembled for parts is what used to be your little Ford. Sadly, it was stolen._

While I’m pointing out the attractions to Jared, a blonde twin to Jenny – they are in fact identical twins – rolls out on a mechanic’s creeper from under the pickup. Grabbing a blue shop rag, she wipes her nitrile-glove-clad hands as she trots up. Shakes her head in disapproval.

_Dude, you were really behind on your oil change._

_Sarah, may I present Jared, the new hire. Jared, this is Jenny’s twin, Sarah. Also one of your training supervisors._

Jared is having difficulty processing the loss of his truck, only manages to nod his head at Sarah.

She beams a glowing smile of welcome at him, to which he reflexively reacts as a young man often does to receiving attention from an attractive blonde. Forget the truck.

Jenny laughs:

_They call us Las Rubias. The Blondies._

Jared seems to be reviving. I turn to Ramon.

_I’ll give Jared his hiring interview now._

I move so I’m intruding within Jared’s comfort zone, to ensure his undivided attention.

 _Jared. As you of course have not forgotten, you need to stay out of state for a while. Fortunately, you’ve just been hired into an international corporation that will allow you to travel. You’ll see scenic vistas and enjoy interesting food and accommodations. Learn a new language. With opportunities to climb the promotion ladder_ – (I gesture to the twins) - _so long as you pay attention to your excellent trainers. You’re now an Entry Level Vehicle Delivery Specialist._

Jenny interjects:

_He means you’ll be a driver, like us. White people with light hair almost never get pulled over._

I continue.

_You will seldom have to wear a suit, but Jenny packed a nice one and a sports jacket from your closet just in case. Pay starts at minimum wage, but steadily increases depending upon performance. However, our Human Resources division is a bit more hands-on than what you’d encounter downtown. So if you want to survive your probationary period,_

(Here I grab his shirt front and get in his face. Because drama.) _I. Strongly. Suggest. That. You. Follow. Orders. Exactly._

(Release shirt and step back.) _Obey all traffic laws. Avoid so much as getting passed closely by the police. Getting pulled over will earn you a bad performance review, possibly involving cracked ribs. Get ticketed and into the law enforcement database, you will receive a severe demotion and a remedial work transfer, likely to a garage in National City. You know where National City is?_

(Jared shakes his head.) _It’s an old suburb south of San Diego. Very ethnic. Has its attractions, despite a moderately high crime rate. But if you get into serious trouble, your body will never be found. There’s a lot of wilderness in the West, with wildlife more than grateful to dispose of remains. So don’t do anything that will make Mom and Dad sad._

(Another pause for dramatic effect.) _Those are your employment guidelines. We don’t have a handbook. Are you clear on all this?_

He starts to say, _“Uh-huh,”_ thinks better of it.

_Yes. I’m clear. . . . Sir._

_Excellent._

He looks uncertain, then bucks up enough to venture a question.

_Will I get my phone back? . . . Sir._

_Phones can be tracked. We use burners. But you won’t be wanting to access either the internet or your contacts list until Las Rubias have brought you up to speed on security procedures. Your hiring interview is now over. Jenny and Sarah will answer further questions and show you the drill._

The kid isn’t as dumb as he looks. Or at least has a keen sense of self preservation. He gets the hint to shut up.

The sound of a car parking outside, then the side door opens and Lee glides into the room. The woven leather coat is gone, revealing more of the ballerina physique beneath that skin-tight brocade jacket. Long trumpet sleeves with peculiar horse-hoof-shaped cuffs that extend to her fingertips. Lithe as a puma on the hunt, she strides across the room. Somewhere in the background, the clang of a tool being dropped onto concrete. Drawing up alongside me, she slides her hands into her sleeves, standing with folded arms. Before they disappear into the brocade, I notice her now-gloveless fingers are nicely manicured into sharp little kitty points, not ruby red claws. No clichés for this Dragon Lady in hightops.

Jared unconsciously raises a hand to the swollen side of his face, gingerly fingering around the eye that is increasingly turning into a plum. All observers draw the correct conclusion. Jenny is impressed:

_Jesus. She do that without a wrench, or anything?_

Sarah gives her a slight jerk of the head. They turn to watch Ramon and Lee, then fall as silent and breathless as the rest of the bystanders.

_Ramon, may I present my associate, Madame Lee. Lee, meet Ramon Rodriguez._

Ramon may be in his seventies, but he’s no pudgy, slightly balding abuelo. Still has a thick and precisely barbered mane of hair, albeit now snow white. The same 6-foot height as Lee, stringy as jerky. Not even slightly stoop-shouldered. His left hand is now resting lightly in the side pocket of his leather jacket. The two regard one another like rival cobras. Which reminds me that Ramon’s nickname, back in the day, was El Culebro. It was not a reference to his sexual prowess.

Moving only her head in a slight tilt – again the Robo-China-Doll - Lee breaks the silence.

_You are left-handed._

_You also, I see._

A longish pause. Then Ramon murmurs:

_Show me your weapon._

_It is not for show._

Ramon nods, takes his hand out of his pocket.

Professional comradeship apparently established, Lee withdraws her hands from her sleeves, steps closer to me, takes my left hand in her right. The collective silent puff of relief from the perimeter or the room is enough to rustle the decorative ferns. If the garage had any.

Resuming his normal laidback posture, Ramon turns to Las Rubias and in Spanish instructs them to take Jared away, clean him up, and be off with him on their trip to El Paso or wherever. Jared evidently doesn’t speak Spanish, as I doubt he’s chill enough to show no reaction to the _“pinche gringo pendejo”_ bit.


	7. Demon

Once we’re back in the Subaru and outside the gate, I change the paint back to gray and lighten the windows while Lee drives. Just a couple of suburbanites returning from a weekend of battling discomfort in the sticks under the guise of recreation. Unless one looks closely to observe driver Lee, who isn’t clad in Patagonia fleece, but has instead morphed her silk jacket from red and black to a peach and spring green brocade that complements her now lilac bob. No more gunk on her face. As I’m considering likely pull-out spots on the way to the hotel for a make-out session, Lee interrupts my thoughts:

_Are the two blonde women Ramon’s concubines?_

_The exact word. There’s quite a story behind that threesome. I’ll have to tell it to you some time. The shorter version is that it’s a May-December romance between a retired Mexican drug baron and daughters of a religious couple who run a fruit ranch in the agricultural lands to the east of the mountains. Families on both sides strongly disapprove. Ramon and Las Rubias don’t give a shit what their families think. Have been living their best lives for the past 15 years._

_I will await your tale with pleasure. But now, can we stop somewhere where you can kiss me without interference from onlookers?_

_Was just considering that problem myself. There aren’t really any good secluded places that the local human wildlife isn’t infesting. Urban sprawl. Tell you what – let’s just chill until we get back downtown. It’s only about an hour away._

She turns her head and gazes at me, runs a tongue tip around her slightly open lips. As the Subaru rumbles along at 75mph.

_Stop that. Unless you want to experience the thrill of driving off the road, of course._

_I could drive this car with my eyes closed._

_So I’ve noticed. Where did you learn to drive?_

_Big cities in Asia. Ever since the humans invented automobiles. It’s an excellent learning experience. For my first few months here, I also drove cab._

_I’ll bet that was exciting for the passengers._

_Only if they were obnoxious._

A coy smile. We drive on in silence. 

* * *

Instead of rushing into the bedroom, I go slouch on the low Togo sofa in the front room. The city lights glitter through the floor-to-ceiling window wall, and a few lighted ships traverse the water. She unbuttons her brocade jacket as she sits astride my knees. I reach up, slide the jacket down around her shoulders, revealing her petite breasts. When she’s male, her nipples are flat as copper pennies. Now they’re like plump blossoms, with rosy areolae. She closes her eyes and sighs as my fingers caress her nipples into tight buds. We simultaneously vanish our clothing. Her cool hands stroke my chest, she leans forward against me. 

_You are so warm. And hairy._

And then she rises on her knees a bit and screws herself down onto my erection. I feel cold energy pouring down my spine, swirling and eddying in my nuts before her contractions pull it out of me by the gallon. We’re both rigid with a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. As in previous episodes, it lasts for hours. If we feel the pleasure tapering off, she moves with hip wriggles and thrusts to ramp it up again. We continue until the sky turns lighter with the early pre-dawn. She releases me and rolls off my lap to sit close beside me.

_That was very satisfying._

_I didn’t think that orifice worked for us. I’m surprised we’re not radioactive and glowing green._

_I didn’t even know it was an orifice. I thought it was just a shallow external cavity. For simulation purposes._

_Twelve thousand years and neither one of us ever checked it out?_

_How? With a human?_

_They do make up all sorts of tales about supernatural beings having connections with them. But I never even considered that a possibility. And of course the Apparitions can only appear._

_They can go through walls though. I can’t. Can you?_

_No. Well, not without making a hole._

We sit in contemplation. Finally she murmurs:

_I do not understand how we can do this now._

_Or why we feel lust. It cannot be an encouragement to cooperate for reproduction. We are not material creatures._

_Yes we are. Well, somewhat._

_More like simulacra. We don’t need to consume or excrete. And we are immortal._

_I think we are dogs._

_What!?_

_You know how humans have developed a symbiosis with the wolves they domesticated? How they use these animals to help them with things they are not so good at themselves?_

_Go on._

_I think the Apparitions use us in the same manner to deal with material beings. To detect and manipulate the ones that . . . that . . ._

_That what?_

_That they find interesting somehow. For reasons they never deign to reveal. I never understood why I was commanded to go places or to approach certain humans._

_Me neither. Did you . . . take an improvisational approach to obeying commands?_

_Yes. I often found myself having to kill the humans the Apparitions were interested in. For which I was chastised._

_I thought you said you never smited anyone?_

_I never did. Dissociated bodies vanish. I prefer to leave the corpses as examples to those who might draw a lesson from them._

_So your confrontation with Ramon wasn’t an opera act. One professional killer to another, eh?_

_Perhaps._

_Well, Serial Killer, isn’t it about that time of day for you to resume your duties selling lattés and burritos to the early commuter crowd?_

_Today is my day off._

_Is that so? . . . Almighty._

A sultry feminine voice responds from an overhead speaker.

_Yes, Detlef?_

_Call Sharmayne when the office opens. Inform her I will not be in today. Request that she only call me for exceptionally interesting emergencies, such as nuclear war._

_I heed and obey._

Lee regards me.

_Your digital assistant?_

_Best one available._

_I thought I detected the presence of a small mind._

_In the past I have kept hounds, but this hotel frowns upon resident animals. Plus dogs have difficulty working telecommunication systems, of course. Useful as they may be for other purposes. Then there’s the problem that they don’t last long, and I feel sad when they recycle._

_So you become attached to your dogs._

_Very much so. They all have different personalities._

_You do not beat them?_

_I would never do that to such earnest and amusing companions._

_I have never partnered with dogs, but I have with equines. Donkeys and mules, mostly, but sometimes a horse. I would never harm an equine._

She frowns. Then whispers,

_Humans have a lot to answer for when it comes to what they consider lesser beings. As do the Apparitions._

We sit in silence for a long while. Then she gets an idea.

_Would you like to become female? I could change to male, and you could envelop me as I did you. It feels wonderful._

I give this some consideration.

_No. It’s been a couple of centuries since I was female. Not sure I want to do it now. I would feel as if I were being penetrated. Not as if I were enveloping. Perhaps I am oversensitive to power relations._

_You are a tempter. That is your realm of expertise. Did you feel as if you were penetrating me?_

I laugh.

_No. Your ambush was a complete surprise. I felt nothing but pleasure and delight._

_It was a surprise to me, too. I had no intention of any dominance move. I just . . . did it._

She sits awhile in silent thought. Then grasps my hand.

_What if you become female, and we play together all day as women? As we do when we are both males._

I transform.

_You have a choice of hair styles and body tint._

_You are attractive just as you are now._

She curls around, strokes my breasts, then lays her head against them.

_Your breasts are like warm pillows. So soft. . ._

She leans away and floats backwards into the air, then does a half barrel roll and shoots off toward the bedroom like a pale eel.

I levitate and glide along after her. Why walk when you can fly.

We spend the day exploring pleasurable strokes and kisses and touches and positions and orgasming for hours.

* * *

_Let us view the sunset._

We return to the front room. The sun is at the horizon, turning city windows into glittering copper red and casting a scarlet stain across the water. Lee comes up behind me and clasps my breasts as she nuzzles my neck and shoulder. I stand with legs apart, arms outstretched, head raised as we’re bathed in crimson light.

_Suck on this, Abyss!_

* * *

This insolence does not go unnoticed. The Apparitions may have departed the world for new assignments, but their awareness of their former charges persists - not having anything like matter and space to get in the way of communication. Abyss contemplates how the Binary now calling itself Detlef was always a a feral, cunning, and contrary beast. And is now loose in that hapless world with its Binary mate. Who, according to whispers from the Others, was also difficult to control. Sly. Disobedient. Violent. The opposing Commanders had secretly wondered if they’d been assigned the wrong Binaries in error. But of course, the Minds never make mistakes. Abyss evaporates its attention away from its former subordinate and back to more immediate matters.

* * *

Taemin for this chapter’s mood music.

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-OfOkiVFmhM>

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFQL7BS6lrs>


	8. Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QWUKCiWuXNY

[ ](https://imgur.com/Ioj8jrb)

Some weeks later. . .

It’s early evening before I’m able to break free from the tedious intricacies of money laundering and pull into the loading zone in front of Sacred Grounds. Disappear the marking paint and signs, then stroll in to watch Lee and Joy doing their evening dance practice. Lee has recounted how the two of them used to practice K-pop routines during slow times at the convenience store, but now that Joy is working as a barista in the coffee shop, they meet up there to do their dance practice after he finishes his shift at the store. This is usually after rush hour, but lately the coffee shop crowd has been subtly increasing in the evenings, despite the noise from workmen sawing and hammering and moving awkward hunks of materials around. Plastic sheeting controls the dust for the most part, but there’s nonetheless a lingering aroma of drywall, sawdust, and paint. Undeterred, some of the late work crowd seem to find the dance practice worth a caffeine foray out of the office. Linda has seen me park, follows me with my cappuccino as I saunter over to my favorite seat in the Madonna of Guadalupe corner - the couple already there fortuitously deciding to leave.

The subtle eroticism of Lee's dancing is so riveting my eyes stop blinking.

Linda goes back to the counter and resumes a discussion she’s apparently been having with Sarah, the architect. Sarah’s a stout, genial little woman with fluffy sandy hair. Just out of school with a fresh new degree in interior design. Even after six months, she’s still thrilled to be the new hire at a happening firm and is determined to make the coffee shop a Destination.

A few heads turn as a woman comes through the door, then all heads orient, falling silent while trying not to stare. She’s as tall and slim as Lee, beautiful as a film star, dressed in several thousand dollars of designer rose pink wool pantsuit and silk jacquard blouse, and that’s not counting the accessories. Lush, thick cornsilk hair in a chic version of a pixie cut, sapphire blue eyes accentuated by pale icy blue rimless glasses. Sarah jumps as if electrocuted.

_Inga!_

_Hello, Sarah. I was in the neighborhood, so thought I would stop by to see your project. I can’t stay long – my driver is circling the block, there was no parking out front. Surely there needs to be a loading zone for this block? You must look into that for the permitting detail._

_I’ll be sure to do that, Inga. May I introduce Linda Lovejoy, the proprietor. Linda, this is my boss, Inga Mueller._

_How very nice to meet you, Linda._

She gazes around the mild pandemonium as if surveying a squat. Lee and Joy finish dancing. Tonight he’s clad in black leggings with a hole in one knee, a faded tie-dyed rag of t-shirt over the black turtleneck, his hightop Vans in an orange camo pattern that he actually bought new. Lee takes the seat next to me in the booth, Joy skips over to the service area to cut two hefty slices of the chocolate cake and brew two mugs of cocoa.

_And this is Joy, Linda’s barista. Joy, meet my boss, Inga Mueller._

_Oh! Pleased to meet you, Ms. Mueller._

Inga merely nods, so Joy trots off to deliver her tray of sugar bombs. She and Lee promptly set to shoveling in forkfuls of cake. Inga regards Sarah.

_They were dancing?_

_Linda lets them do their dance practice in the evenings. They say the mirror wall is perfect. Despite being old and cracked. I’ve changed the design to accommodate a newer version._

_Interesting._

Without a further word, Inga turns and strides over to our table, pulls up a chair and sits opposite me, next to Joy. She has the complete self-possessed toolkit of a woman who knows she’ll be the center of attention wherever she goes. Her opening gambit is directed to me with a flirtatious smile:

_You have eyes like a lynx._

_So I’ve been told._

In fact, “Lynx” in Russian was my nickname when I worked at Peter the Great’s court. Inga is undeterred.

_And a predator’s stare. Very sexy._

I make no reply, turn my attention to Lee alongside me. He’s surreptitiously gripped my hand, slipping his fingers between mine. His touch when we hold hands is normally strong and sinewy, so I detect nothing unusual. We both know what’s sitting opposite us. Inga turns to briefly survey Lee and Joy, as if casually calculating relationship dynamics, then pronounces:

_I saw you two at The Blue Roof last month. You won a prize at their K-pop dance festival._

Joy replies:

_Yes! We did! The one for classic choreography._

_I confess to being unfamiliar with such music – my date suggested we go - but I recollect it was a rather slinky dance._

_We did Taemin’s song “Move.” It’s tricky, but it makes a nice duet._

Inga gazes directly at Lee, ignoring Joy.

_You’re very good. But I mustn’t chitchat._

She rises and turns toward the counter.

_Sarah! Would you show me your progress?_

Sarah grabs a tablet clipboard, comes over at a double trot and the two go march off on the inspection tour. A short while later, Inga strides out. A black Mercedes SUV glides up. She doesn’t wait for her chauffeur, instead opens the passenger door herself and gracefully alights inside. Sarah and Linda both come over and sit with us. Sarah puffs out her cheeks and exhales.

_Whew. What did you all think of her?_

Linda pronounces judgment:

_Beautiful on the outside. But I wouldn’t go down any dark alleys with her. My body would probably be found drained and bloodless._

Joy gazes wistfully back at the door, as if hoping to catch another glimpse of the vision. Her vibe of attraction to wealth and beauty is unmistakable. Probably accounts for Jared. And future trouble.

_She’s so beautiful. Is she as rich as she looks?_

_Oh yeah. And very imperious about it. The office scuttlebutt is that she’s slumming with us as a little hobby. She does have a lot of talent, though. Has done some of the trendier habitations for the unhoused. You’ve seen the one on _________ Avenue, right? It was in all the papers._

Lee murmurs:

_Let me guess. The homeless hate it._

_Do they ever. How did you know? It was designed after considerable input from the likely user groups and the surrounding neighborhood. So everyone is mystified about why the unsheltered resist moving there._

_They think it’s haunted. A death trap._

_What? Because of those two overdose deaths?_

_And other things. Doors that won’t open. Doors that won’t stay shut. Stuff out place. Groaning noises. Spider cracks in mirrors. Injuries from slipping or falling._

_All of which undoubtedly have perfectly natural explanations._

_Sure. But some of the homeless have mental issues, so find such things disturbing and sinister. Especially if people have died in the building. The gossip is that the deaths were not overdoses. That it was murder._

_Oh, lord. Murder? Whatever for?_

_They think it was the The Homeless Killer._

_Those two residents were no longer homeless. That makes no sense whatsoever._

_I know. I’m just reporting what I hear._

Sarah digests this or a moment. Then:

_The unhoused come into your store a lot?_

Joy takes over for Lee:

_We keep a pot of chili hot and sell it cheap. They can get a big cupful with a slice of cheese on top and a bag of corn chips The giant peanut butter cookies are also popular, so we leave those near the chili station._

Lee continues:

_I pull the inventory that’s about to expire and leave stuff at the more feral squats on Tuesdays and Fridays. That’s what I’ll be doing tonight._

_We let him use the store van._

And usually I go along as driver now, combining the pleasure of Lee’s company with the business of selling Rose brand drugs. “Cheap and Safe is Our Motto.” Relentless marketing is a perennial requirement for any successful enterprise. 

* * *

We drop Joy off at the Paks’ store. Instead of following her in, Lee climbs into the front passenger seat, then hunches forward with his head on the dashboard, hands clenched in his lap.

Unnnnnnnhhhhh. . . This constant lust is getting to me. I’ve been thinking about you all day. Then that dance practice. . . I was dancing for you . . . you don’t know the lyrics, do you? . . . And now I’m hard as a lead pipe.

_You want me to drive to the park or something for a quickie?_

_No! No. Let’s . . . let’s just go to your room. We can come back later to do tonight’s deliveries._

I get out and go into the store to say that we’ll do the deliveries later that night. When I return, Lee is at least sitting upright. By the time we arrive at the hotel, he’s got himself back under control and we give the valet and elevator guard nothing to gossip about. Apart from that tie-dyed rag of a shirt. (“So, you think he’s maybe just a stoner, not a tweaker?” “Dunno. Don’t they usually stink of weed?”)

He grips my hand in the elevator and pulls me through the cursed hallway and into the front room instead of the bedroom. Flings me onto the Togo sofa, then plops himself straddling my lap.

_Let me undress you._

_Twenty minutes ago you were overcome by lust - now you want to take your time?_

_You wear such complicated clothes. Undressing you is like opening a present._

_Don’t take all night. You’re not the only one struggling to maintain._

I half close my eyes and lean back like a rag doll as he removes my tie, unbuttons my suit, waistcoat, shirt. I’m wearing suspenders today, so he slides those off my shoulders. Chill hands caress my chest. He strips off his shirts. Icy lips nuzzle my neck. Cold arms slip around my back and a gelid body glides against mine and hugs me close. Our clothing disappears, and that’s itsky for foreplay. 

* * *

It’s around eleven when we climb out of the Subaru in the alleyway behind the Paks’ store. Lee keys in the codes to disarm the alarms and unlock the doors. We tote various boxes and bags of food and drink through the back Staff door, through the inside garage door, and into the aging 1998 Econoline van. Lee grimaces as the garage door creaks and groans as it lifts open and the van’s failing exhaust system roars into life. Mr. Pak appears in a pajamas at a rear window. Lee leans out and waves to reassure him.

_Sorry, Paks! We late._

* * *

We’re rolling along a dimly lit street that gentrification hasn’t even come close to yet, on the way to the last squat. Someone – a woman? - bursts from an alleyway and flings herself screaming into the headlights. I barely hit the brakes in time to avoid draping her across the hood.

_Mr. Lee! Mr. Lee! Save me! Save me!_

A tall dark figure runs out of the alleyway close behind the woman, sees us, and does an abrupt about-face, disappearing the way it came. Lee vaults out the passenger door, grabs the woman, opens the side door and flings her inside, slams the front passenger door shut, jumps in the back after the woman and slides the door closed with a bang. I hit the gas and head at speed to the closest higher traffic thoroughfare, changing the van’s color to dark blue so the store logo isn’t so visible and obscuring the plates. Soon we’re up the freeway on-ramp and barreling along toward the airport. 

Meanwhile Lee has his hands full with a shrieking, terrified woman.

_They’re all dead! He killed them! It’s the Homeless Killer!_

_You’re safe. . . . You’re safe. . . . I’m holding you. . . ._

_He was going to kill me! He had a knife!_

_He can’t get you. . . . You’re safe now. . . . Don’t freak out on me. . . ._

_Huh huh huhhuhhh . . ._

_Shush. . . . Take a deep breath. . . . That’s right. . . . That’s right. . . . Now another one. . ._

Gasping sobs continue for some time. About 15 miles later I make a fast lane change onto an off ramp toward a gas and café stop and we park in the lot amid a line of other vehicles. Nobody follows us. I continue watching for incoming as Lee queries the now marginally calmer woman. 

I take a brief backward look to see what we’re dealing with. Lee has produced a thick, soft blanket, and wrapped in it like a burrito is a haggard blonde who looks 50 but is probably only in her twenties. 

_What’s your name?_

_Tracy._

_Tracy, would you like something warm to drink?_

_Could I have a cigarette?_

_No. No smoking in our van._

Lee reaches into his pocket and produces a small plastic pill container. Cracks it open, and lets two small tablets fall into his palm.

_Here. Swallow these._

He reaches around in the van and pulls out a bottle of water and a packet of something.

_Now you must drink half of this water and eat these crackers._

_What are they?_

_Cheese and peanut butter crackers._

_I meant the pills._

_A painkiller. Just take them. You’ll feel better._

Tracy does as directed. When she’s got the crackers and water down, Lee puts an arm around her shoulders and murmurs

_Now tell us what you saw._

She shudders, and he grasps her hand.

_Wow, your hand is so cold. But strong._

_Yes. You are safe with us. Now tell us what you saw._

_I . . . I had to go get cigarettes. Ivan wanted them. He wouldn’t give me any money, so I had to . . . I had to . . . get them from someone else._

_Who is Ivan?_

_My . . . partner. Jenny and Tyler . . . hang out with us._

_How long were you gone?_

_A long time. I’m not as pretty as I use to be and nobody . . . nobody . . ._

_Wanted to give you cigarettes?_

_Yeah. It took awhile. But I was afraid Ivan would be angry if I returned without them. And when I got back. . ._

She starts to make gasping noises again. Lee puts his palm against her forehead, and she quiets.

_Tell us what you saw._

_They were all dead!_

_How could you tell?_

_There was blood everywhere! Their throats were slashed and . . . and . . . Unhhhhh . . . it was awful! And then this guy stood up from behind our plywood wall and I ran away. It was a cop!_

_A cop? Not some security guard or something?_

_I know a cop’s uniform when I see it._

_Wearing a hat?_

_Uh huh. And sunglasses. At night!_

I recollect the dark pursuer I glimpsed before it bolted back down the alley. Even in the dim light what was visible of the face looked light, so probably white. And tall. And it did appear to be wearing a cop’s hat.

Lee turns his head to me.

_We can’t bring her in to the police._

_No! No! They’ll hurt me! And lock me in with criminals! And the killer will . . . will find me . . . and . . ._

_Shush. I just said, we’re not bringing you in to the police._

_Just drop me off at one of the other camps._

I take over:

_Nope. That’s the first place they’ll look for you. At the very least, someone will rat you out and reveal your name. Shelters are out, too. That’s the second place they’ll look. If you’ve really witnessed The Homeless Killer in action – and it sounds as if you have – if they find you, you’re dead. Do you have any family nearby?_

_Up the coast in _______________._

_You can’t contact them or go there either, because that’s the third place they’ll try to find you._

_Where can I stay? I haven’t got money for a hotel._

_Hotels and motels will be the fourth place they’ll look._

_Well where can I go then?_

_Let me make a phone call._

I go outside the van far enough away so I can’t be overheard, and ring up Gladys.

_Hellfire, Detlef, you know what time it is?_

_Of course. And I wouldn’t be calling if it weren’t urgent. We have a witness to a killing. Possibly done by The Homeless Killer. They nearly got her as well. We need a babysitter so they don’t find her. Is Pearline available?_

_Yes. I’ll call them and tell them you’re on your way. You tell me all about it tomorrow._

_Terrific. Hope you can get back to sleep. Bye._

I walk around to change the license plate numbers and make sure the store logo is obscured, then climb back into the driver’s seat and start up the van.

_We’ve got a place you can stay. With a bodyguard._

* * *

We pull into the parking area for Pearline’s condo. I punch in the lobby key code, and we take a sleek elevator to the third floor. The light’s on over the doorway, and Pearline cracks the door to signal we can just walk on in.

_Follow me into the kitchen, folks, I’ve got the espresso machine fired up. Hot cinnamon milk. Too late at night for caffeine. Except for you, Detlef. I’ll get you a cappuccino._

The lovely person we follow is, I happen to know, of Filipino and Cambodian parentage. Graceful and slim. Thick blonde hair in a stylish bowl cut with a gloss worthy of a shampoo commercial. Clad in silk pajama pants and a brocade bed jacket. Only when we arrive in the lighted kitchen and they turn around is the subtly masculine physique revealed in the shoulders and hands. Pearline works out and is completely toned beneath that silk apparel.

We arrange ourselves in chairs along the high counter as Pearline works away and distributes frothy mugs to Lee and Tracy, makes one for themself, and a cappuccino for me. Pearline pulls a stool around to sit opposite the three of us.

_Now then, Detlef, who have we got here?_

_Pearline, meet my associate Lee. . ._

Lee merits a keen appraisal and then an approving smile.

_. . . and Tracy. Tracy’s a witness who came across a triple murder, possibly by The Homeless Killer. Her three friends were the ones killed. She barely escaped. We picked her up. She can tell you all the details tomorrow._

She’s still shocky, with hollow eyes. Lee hands her the mug of hot, fragrant milk and helps her take a sip.

_It’s good. You’ll like it._

She does. 

Pearline gives Tracy a long stare of inspection as she gulps her milk.

_You’re a righteous mess, honey. You finish that milk, then off for a hot shower. I’ll draw a bubble bath. You’re gonna need a long soak before I let you use the spare pajamas and bed linens. Tomorrow we’ll deal with your hair and getting you some new bags. What you’ve got on is going straight down the trash chute. You got any addiction problems, I have stuff on hand to deal with just about anything. You want another mug of milk?_

She shakes her head “No,” then collects herself enough to murmur a “Thank you.”

_Do I need to keep her cuffed, Detlef?_

_I don’t think she’s stupid enough to do a runner, what with a serial killer on her trail. Are you, Tracy?_

She drops her empty mug and shakes her head violently. Lee places an arm around her shoulder. She starts to cry.

_Mr. Lee, will you go with me to the shower?_

_Sure._

Pearline grins and laughs amiably, rises from the stool.

_Honey, if you think I’m gonna tap your skank ass, you got another think coming. C’mon, you two. Lee can help you shower while I run your bath water._

While the scrub down proceeds, I migrate to the couch in front of the flatscreen and cue up a local news channel. Yep. There it is. Flashing lights, yellow tape, coroner’s van, forensic team. I check the online media. Someone got a jerky video shot in before the police could block it, and apparently the killer went back after Tracy escaped and did a bit of their signature butchering. Christ.

* * *

In the van on the way back to the hotel, Lee and I plot strategy.

_I checked the media. There’s no word about any search for a supposed witness. So the police don’t know about Tracy. We don’t want to get charged with hiding a witness and obstructing justice._

_But the killer saw me and the van. And heard Tracy shout my name. Such a person will probably come to the store tomorrow to check me out._

_Yes. They won’t be able to stay away. It will be interesting to see who shows up. If it’s the police, how did they get the tip to check out you and the store? And if it’s someone else . . . Did you get a look at Tracy’s pursuer?_

_Just a glimpse. I was focused on getting her into the van. Tall, dark clothing, cop hat, maybe white skin?_

_Yeah, that’s pretty much all I saw, too. And a long knife. You didn’t see the online vid of what the killer went back and did with that knife._

_The trademark mutilations?_

I nod.

_One other thing. The killer saw you exit the passenger side. They’ll likely conclude that there was someone else driving. And will eventually figure out that person was me._

_Are the Paks in danger?_

_Not while you’re around, of course. The rest of the time, I’ll have a surveillance team keep watch._ _By the way, what were those pills you gave Tracy?_

_Naproxin. Sold as Alleve._

_I thought those were long and blue._

_They are. I was a nurse assistant during the Korean War. We administered aspirin in small green pills as a “pain reliever.” Because American soldiers believed aspirin wasn’t strong enough, and thought it only came in big white tablets. So small green pills of some mysterious potent pain reliever supposedly available only to medical personnel were what we handed out. Nowadays when I dispense naproxen, I use little green pills. It can cause digestive problems, so I make people take it with water and some sort of food. The ritual also seems to enhance the placebo effect._

For some reason this little tale makes me grin with delight.

* * *

We return the van to the store garage. I restore the white paint and plates while Lee cleans up inside so there’s no trace of anything, right down to any DNA. And just for the hell of it, I fix the damned exhaust system. Then back into the unmolested Subaru (Lee put a word out to the neighborhood wildlife) and off to the hotel to frolic for a few hours until Lee must report to work.

* * *

Taemin + Koharu Sugawara duet

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QWUKCiWuXNY


	9. Video

Lee

[ ](https://imgur.com/aqBzSsS)

I contact my on-call surveillance expert Samira and pick her up after dropping off Lee. We go to her shop for the necessary equipment, then rocket off to the Paks’ store to install various tiny hidden wi-fi linked cameras around the place. We also replace the retro security cams, making sure the new ones are positioned to be blindingly obvious to anyone concerned about such things. Between the two of us, we’re finished in about an hour. Lee makes each of us an espresso and I demonstrate using my phone where he should stand and what the best positioning is for potential camera captures. Then Samira and I are off, just beating the trickle of wage serfs slouching in for a caffeine-and-sugar corpse reviver before they must show up at the office at 7:00 am, even on a Saturday. 

During the day I monitor the recordings, which turn out to be even more interesting than we’d hoped. I do a summary of clips, then pick up Lee after his 12-hour shift. As we exit, I note a signal indicating that a tracker has been hidden on the chassis during the brief time the Subaru was parked in the alleyway while I went inside to retrieve Lee and give my regards to Mr. Pak. I remove the tracker, extract my phone to take a pic of the make and serial number. Meanwhile, one of my surveillance team comes trotting up from her lurking spot.

_Was just gonna tell you ‘bout that. Guy who planted it is waiting at the end of the alley. Skinny kid in a blue hoodie. We didn’t see him with anyone else. Want us to question him?_

_Nah. I got the info I need from it. Good work keeping an eye on that van. You all need anything for tonight?_

_No, sir. We’re good to go._

_The family could be in danger. The girl’s returning from a camping trip, should be home by 6. Let me know if she doesn’t show up by then._

_Check._

As we exit the alley, I toss the tracker to the waiting lurker. Who fumbles and drops it in surprise, then takes off at a run, leaving it on the sidewalk lest the owners demands a refund for whatever they gave him to install it and keep watch. Just to be on the safe side, I keep an eye out for following vehicles and to observe whether there’s just one or whether they’re boxing us. See nothing suspicious. Do a little joyride of the standard evasive measures just for the fun of it, then back to the hotel for a sextasy hit with Lee before visiting Pearline and Tracy.

* * *

Lee sits with Tracy on the loveseat in front of the flatscreen, Pearline and I in armchairs on either side. The best clips in the queue are from mid-afternoon, starting with the arrival of a police detective. He’s as tall as Lee, very Nordic-looking with fair skin, blue eyes, and thick pale blonde hair in a Caesar cut. Maybe mid-30s. Surprising dapper, dressed in a gray tweed suit jacket over jeans that fit, light blue oxford button-down cut loose to accommodate the body armor beneath, caramel oxfords and matching belt. Unmistakably a cop nonetheless, with hip holster bulge and belt slung with badge, radio, and handcuffs. Mr. Pak goes on the alert and walks to stand alongside Lee’s checkout counter.

_Good afternoon. I’m Detective Carl Bergen. We’ve been canvassing the local unsheltered population about last night’s murders._

Mr. Pak contributes the most in the subsequent conversation, Lee for the most part standing dumbly with slightly open mouth and scared demeanor. His acting is worthy of an award.

_Can we see your I.D.?_

Detective Bergen unclips his I.D. card from his lanyard, holding onto it as Lee and Mr. Pak scrutinize it. Lee’s somber dark eyes gaze at the detective’s face as if memorizing every feature. For the rest of the sequence I use the camera that best shows the detective. He re-clips his I.D. card, then:

_Mr. Pak, I understand that you are the proprietor of this store?_

_Yes._

_And this is Mr. Lee, your employee?_

_Yes._

_Is there somewhere Mr. Lee and I can go to confer without interruption?_

_No. We'll stay here. I'll close the store._

The detective turns to watch as Mr. Lee hustles the lone customer out, locks the door, flips a “Back Soon” sign, and returns to his post, this time standing shoulder to shoulder with Lee.

_Mr. Pak, we’ve been informed that Mr. Lee delivers groceries to many of the surrounding unsheltered camps. Is that correct?_

_Food about to expire. That we'd have to throw out soon anyway. Still good, though._

_When does he make these deliveries?_

_Tuesdays and Fridays._

_Usually late at night?_

Lee and Mr. Pak remain silent.

_You were out making deliveries close to midnight last night, Mr. Lee?_

[silence]

_Mr. Lee, did you drive to the encampment on _____________ Avenue last night?_

[silence]

_Mr. Lee, if you witnessed anything last night, you must tell us. Surely you know that we suspect these unsheltered murders to be the work of a serial killer. That there will likely be further killings unless we are able to find this person – or persons – and stop them._

[silence]

_Mr. Lee, a number of the unsheltered persons we interviewed today were concerned about a woman who hung out with the murder victims. They say they haven’t seen her today and are wondering if she is all right. Her name is Tracy. No one seems to know her last name._

[silence]

_Our concern is that she may have been kidnapped. Considering what this killer does to their victims, we consider Tracy’s whereabouts to be an urgent matter._

[silence]

_Mr. Lee, has it occurred to you that you could be considered a suspect in the killing last night? Would you prefer we bring you to the station downtown for questioning?_

_No! You can't make him go with you._

_Mr. Lee?_

[silence]

_Mr. Pak, would you be willing to show me the interior of your delivery van?_

_Not without a warrant._

_Very well. If that becomes necessary, I will return._

Detective Bergen gives both Lee and Mr. Pak a searching look _,_ then takes out a business card.

_If you decide you want to talk to me, call any time. And I do mean any time. We want no more murders. Good day, gentlemen._

Mr. Pak escorts him to the door, re-opens the shop, returns to the counter. Lee speaks at last:

_I don’t want to do any more deliveries._

_No. Not a good idea. We'll go back to throwing shit in the dumpster._

_I could just do a single delivery to one of the official shelters, maybe?_

_Maybe. If they want._

_I could call around to find out._

Mr. Lee pats him on the shoulder.

_Sure. You do that._

* * *

I pause the video.

_What do you think, Tracy? That guy look like who we saw?_

She shakes her head.

_No. I mean, I don’t think so. It was dark. And I couldn’t see his eyes. I think his hair was gray, maybe. But I’m not sure. He was wearing that hat._

_Perhaps here it might be a good time to say that one of my contacts in the police told me that they got a phone tip early this morning. Someone who said only, “The Homeless Killer. You should be looking for someone tall and white with light hair.” The call came from one of the downtown payphones. Voice changer used. No useful surveillance cam shots. Whoever it was picked the right phone._

_No wonder that detective threatened me about being a suspect._

_Yep. He came back in an hour with a search warrant for the van. Forensic team swabbed and vacuumed all over. But I doubt they found anything. Lee and I had already cleaned up the inside and gotten rid of anything with Tracy’s traces on it._

Pearline interjects,

_What if someone got into that van and planted, I dunno, blood drops or something?_

_Two of my surveillance team stood guard over it from the minute Lee and I left. If forensics found anything, it was planted by Bergen. Or them._

_Detlef, you think maybe that anonymous caller was the killer?_

_Probably. Or a partner. The police don’t think so, though. They think it might have been Tracy._

_WHAT?!_

_As Bergen said, they’re worried you’ve been kidnapped. Because it’s not real likely a homeless person would have a voice changer handy early on a Saturday morning._

Tracy shrinks back into the couch, draws her knees up, and moans.

_Next thing, they’ll be thinking _I’m_ the killer. Ivan and I had issues._

Pearline purrs:

_Relax, honey. You’re safe with me. Besides, nobody would recognize you now that we spent the whole day getting you fixed up. Detlef, Lee, you like her new hairdo?_

Lee murmurs,

_You look completely different, Tracy. Your hairstyle is really nice._

_I told the stylist she was just out of chemo, and they tried extra hard. We keep you on the nicotine patches, honey, take care of those teeth and fatten you up a bit, you’ll be ready to sashay around in public in a couple of weeks._

_I can stay here until then?_

_No place better._

_You don’t mind?_

_Mind? This is my job, honey. Surveillance and supervision. You thought I was a ho, didn’t you?_

_Uh. . ._

Pearline beams a dazzling smile.

_I do that, too._

_All right, ladies, let’s keep running the video and we’ll see who shows up next._

Mr. Pak doesn’t appear in this series of clips because they happen while he’s in the garage overseeing Detective Bergen’s van search. Lee is alone at the counter, customers coming and going as he handles their transactions, to the annoyance of the visitor. Pearline leans forward.

_Whoa! Who’s the movie star?_

_Her name is Inga. Sssh. Listen._

* * *

Inga approaches the counter like royalty visiting an orphanage.

_Hello, Lee. I’d like a word with you. To discuss a proposal._

Lee nods, then gestures to the person who’s sidled up in line behind Inga to come forward and make his purchase. Inga doesn’t even register the customer’s presence, but as he leaves he turns and stares at her while backing out of the store, nearly colliding with two teen girls who’ve just entered. They see Inga, look at one another, then creep around the chips and snacks shelf while sneaking glances at the dazzling woman.

_How’d you know my name?_

_My co-worker Sarah told me. You’re an acquaintance of the financier Detlef, yes?_

Lee goes into his foggy stoner routine, saying nothing.

_Quite right. That is none of my concern._

A runner bursts through the door, grabs an energy drink, bounces to the counter, jogs in place and gapes rudely at Inga while Lee handles his purchase, then exits as energetically as he entered. Inga’s glare would melt stone.

_Can you summon an assistant to the counter so we can speak privately?_

Silent headshake “No.”

_I planned to connect with you yesterday, but my assistant was unable to discover a phone number for you. I thought Saturday would not be a busy day to simply drop by, but I was obviously mistaken. Perhaps my assistant could call you next week to arrange a more convenient time?_

_I don’t have a phone._

Lee looks over at the two girls, gestures to them to step forward and complete their purchases. They reluctantly approach the counter clutching yogurt pops, bags of snack mix, and cans of some juicy drink. Lee watches as they exit, peep through the front window, giggle, and go on their way down the sidewalk. He returns his attention to Inga.

_Sarah tells me you hear rumors about why the unhoused are reluctant to reside in our latest project._

[Silence]

_She says you make deliveries of expiring foodstuffs to the camps where the unsheltered hide._

_I used to. After last night, my employer says no more deliveries._

As if on cue, a homeless couple park their shopping cart out front and come through the door. The man stays outside with the cart, while the woman goes straight to the chili counter, ladles a large paper cup full of chili and puts a lid on it, brings it to the counter, goes back and gets another cup of chili, brings it to the counter, goes back for two wrapped cheese slices, two bags of chips, and a huge peanut butter cookie, then returns to the counter. Lee asks,

_You like some free coffee?_

She nods.

_Yes! . . . Please. Thank you._

Moving as if half asleep, Lee empties the inky remainder of the carafe into two paper cups, puts a cardboard holder around each, bags the food with small biodegradable spoons, makes coin change for the grubby bills. The woman first carries out one bag and one coffee for her partner, returns for her own coffee and bag. Lee absent-mindedly rubs sanitizer on his hands after the door shuts.

If Inga’s the serial killer, her expression indicates that Lee has just moved to the top of the hit list.

_These expiring foodstuffs, they are safe to eat?_

Silent stare.

_I merely want to know if these foodstuffs comply with safety regulations such as food banks and pantries use._

Lee appears to be in deep thought for a long moment. Then:

_Probably not. Food banks don’t want fruit or stuff that needs refrigeration. We mainly hand out milk . . . yogurt . . . bananas . . . snacks. Sometimes leftover bakery. And old chili. We make fresh on Wednesday._

_Is that illegal?_

_No. Stuff gets eaten right away. Mr. Pak said I could check with the shelters to see if we could deliver there. For immediate consumption._

_Have you done this checking?_

_I’m waiting to borrow a friend’s phone._

_Well. Forget about the shelters. I will instruct the manager of the new facility to await your call on Monday, and to work out a delivery arrangement with you._

Outside the window, the two teen girls have returned with two boys in boarder gear. Who prop their boards against the outside (complying with the hand-lettered “No Skateboards In Store” sign on the door), saunter in, carefully inspect the bags of jerky varieties on the rack by the counter, pay for their selections, all the while trying to glance surreptitiously at inga, then scamper chortling and jostling each other out the door.Lee murmurs:

_You think to use me as bait to entice the homeless into the new residence? Because they trust me?_

Inga gives him a sharp look.

_Ah. Most astute, Lee. That is exactly what I would like to have happen._

_I will have to call on Tuesday. Monday is my day off._

_Tuesday is fine._

_Mr. Pak must approve. And you should pay him for these things and for delivery service. You can afford that._

Inga takes a sleek little case from her purse, extracts a business card and hands it to Lee. 

_Assuming the cost will be modest, payment will not be a problem. Have Mr. Pak call me on Monday. If he will allow you to make deliveries, I will instruct my office assistant to work out a payment contract and schedule satisfactory to him._

_I can only deliver on Tuesdays and Fridays._

_That is acceptable. Thank you for your willingness to consider this little project. Now I must bid you good day._

As Inga turns to leave, a tall platinum blonde clad in what appears to be black Prada everything – leather jacket, sunglasses, leggings, footwear - strides in, grabs a bottle of some sort of juice, and approaches the counter.

Tracy screams.

_That’s him! That’s him!_

She curls into a fetal ball on the couch. I back the video up a bit, then pause it. Lee leans over to put an arm around her shoulders.

_Tracy. That’s not a man. She’s a woman. Inga’s driver._

_That’s the killer! That’s who I saw!_

I interject:

_Watch the rest of the video._

* * *

The tall woman regards Inga as she drops a crisp five on the counter and heads back out the door without waiting for change, murmuring only:

_I got thirsty._


	10. Fundraiser

Tracy, peeping from her fetal crouch, shrieks again and points to the screen:

_That’s Ivan’s bracelet! She’s wearing Ivan’s bracelet!_

I pause the video, take out my phone and scroll through the various camera feeds until finding a closeup of the woman’s hand as she drops the five onto the counter. Send the clip to the flatscreen and pause it.

_See! It says “Ivan” in that alphabet the Russians use._

_Cyrillic._

_Yeah. That one. He never takes that bracelet off. . . . I mean, he would never have . . ._

Tracy’s face crumples and she starts to cry. Pearline looks at me.

_I thought serial killers only collected souvenirs in the movies._

Lee has turned around to face me, his dark eyes giving me an unblinking stare. Then the ghost of a smile as he turns again to comfort Tracy. Pearline rises and goes to the kitchen, returning with a decorative box of tissues from the counter and handing it to Tracy.

_Here’s some tissues. I’ll get you an ice pack for your face, honey. Lee, move your ass and let Tracy lie down on that couch._

Lee obliges. Hoists Tracy’s legs onto the couch, props a pillow behind her head, smooths her hair back, then sits on the floor alongside and holds her hand as her sniffling subsides. 

_Let’s watch all the clips from that scene. Except you, Tracy. You stay under that eye pack._

I cue up the other cameras. The various vignettes show Lee flicking his eyes as if to merely note the entrance of Inga’s driver as she strides in, all the while maintaining his slightly open-mouthed focus on beautiful Inga. The driver drops the five on the counter, Lee picks it up and inspects the bill as if fascinated by its crisp, clean newness, turning it over and slowly puzzling out whether counterfeiters bother with small bills. Meanwhile the driver gives him a searching look that would scorch paint, but he never meets her eyes. Finally slides his gaze from the bill to the juice bottle she’s holding and turns to key the purchase into the register. The driver storms off. Lee, holding a handful of change, glances after her. Then he looks at Inga, who merely looks annoyed as she turns to walk out. Lee shrugs and puts the change back into the register.

Pearline murmurs,

_Lee, I thought you and Detlef got a look at that woman. You didn’t recognize her? She was too far away?_

_Oh, I recognized her all right. Just didn’t think it wise to let on that she looked familiar._

_Boy, you are some actor._

Pearline turns to me.

_You suppose she and that Inga woman are a team?_

_Don’t know. I had my assistant do a data trawl this afternoon. Turns out the driver is Russian Kazakh, name of Emina Tynshbaeva. Shadowy character. Vague rumors about connections to friends of the ruling family. And by “friends,” I mean people who can deliver when certain favors are asked. Favors that can’t be connected to the oligarchy._

_Like, the tragic death of a dissident journalist, stuff like that?_

_Yep. The usual. My assistant is still on the trail, following the breadcrumbs to find out just exactly how someone like Inga got hooked up with an assassin._

Lee looks up from his post on the floor.

_We can keep Tracy in hiding. But we can’t just take out the killer and not tell anyone. People need to know that The Homeless Killer is dead._

Pearline gives Lee a curious glance while I reply:

_I think we need to see who’s connected to what before we let law enforcement go thrashing around. Inga’s the key. Once my assistant delivers the report on her, we can hash out a plan._

Lee objects:

_I think we can do something right away. The killer – or someone in league with her – sent that phone message to the police to cast suspicion on me._

_Serial killers think they’re smarter than the average murderer. Probably thought she was being clever._

_So let’s make a counter move. We have to somehow get a video clip of that bracelet to Detective Bergen._

_I don’t see how we can, without further implicating you. He’ll recognize the store setting._

_We can send a message from Tracy to set it up. Something like this: “I saw the Homeless Killer last Friday night. She was dressed like a cop. I went to that Korean convenience store on ____________ Saturday. I was on the sidewalk outside when the killer got out of a big black SUV and walked into the store. She was wearing street clothes, but I recognized her. I saw her wearing Ivan’s bracelet. It’s hand-forged iron with his name in Russian. The killer and another woman left the store together. The store clerk says the woman is the architect for that haunted homeless shelter. I’m in hiding now.”_

_I think I see where you’re going with this. Bergen will then demand to see the store security video footage. Let’s check to see if either of the store cameras picked up the bracelet on Emina’s wrist, or if it was only the hidden cams._

Silence all around as I run the clips. Tracy has removed the eye cold pack and is watching as intently as everyone else. She, Pearline, and Lee simultaneously shout:

_There! You can see it on her wrist when she comes in the door!_

I stop the door cam footage. The bracelet is apparently too big, as it is visible falling atop her right hand when her arm is down. I re-start the footage, which then shows the bracelet outside her jacket sleeve when she reaches for the door to the case with the chilled drinks. Running the second counter cam reveals a solid two-seconds view of her wrist and the bracelet when she drops the bill onto the counter. The resolution doesn’t quite match the crisp close-up focus of the little hidden cams, but it’s good enough. We’re golden. 

_We’d have to do some video editing. To show how Tracy saw the bracelet on Emina. Stage some scenes showing Tracy in disguise outside the store, then going inside to talk with Lee after Emina and Inga drive away._

_Tracy, you up for a starring role? We can stuff you into a hoodie and dark glasses, but one of those cameras is going to have to get a shot of your face to verify it’s you._

Lee murmurs:

_Tomorrow afternoon would be ideal. Not a lot of traffic on Sunday afternoon._

_The security team can divert anyone who tries to enter while we’re letting the cameras record._

_Where is that footage stored, anyway, Detlef?_

_It’s encrypted Wi-Fi, straight to my security company._

_Nobody else has it?_

_Nope. Proprietary._

_You could splice in the new footage, but can the date and time stamps be edited, too?_

_Yep. It’s all digital. My assistant is skilled in video manipulation._

_Like those A.I. videos that look like actual human faces?_

_Right. Any researcher worth their salt has to know to do it. To recognize the tells. And to rub the fingerprints off their own editing._

_That’s some righteous assistant, Detlef._

_Tireless. Best one available._

_What do you think, Tracy?_

_I’m scared. And I don’t want to be a trial witness. But I want to trap that monster. Fucking damn her to Hell!_

Pearline rubs her hands together.

_Alrighty then! Let’s dig up a costume and start rehearsing some lines._

_Do the cameras record audio?_

_No. That’s illegal. But the dialog ought to look authentic, obviously._

_Tracy telling me the killer was dressed as a cop, maybe?_

_Yeah. Good one. Dialog should be no problem for you, Mr. Oscar winner. And Tracy looking scared and nervous would be right in character. Dressed as a student? I’m thinking a hoodie with a distinctive logo or something? In case she ever has to show that she owns a garment “as seen on TV?”_

_You three work it out. I’ve got some errands to run. Back in about an hour and a half._

* * *

Possibly due to two supernatural entities being on the job to remedy random human cockups, our little Sunday afternoon video drama comes off without a hitch. Back at our hotel room later that evening, Lee and I glide the Togo sofa around to the flat screen. We curl together like puppies, Lees’ head in my lap so I can stroke his hair and shoulders as we watch The Almighty edit the video clips into a smooth sequence. Finally she purrs:

_Is this acceptable, Detlef?_

_Totally. Excellent work, Almighty._

_I will proceed to substitute this footage now. . . . . Done._

_Thank you. By the way, you haven’t said whether you are enjoying your new pets, or if they are a nuisance to you._

_We are experiencing entertainment developing training routines. Thank you for these pets._

The twin yellow Spot robot “dogs” rise from their sphinx crouches in guard positions on opposite sides of the room and tap-tap pace around to regard Lee and me. They cock their “heads,” then do a play bow. I grin.

_Good work, Almighty. I am pleased. Resume your other activities. Lee and I are going to make love now._

The Spots resume their park positions facing the door hallway. Lee flicks a finger and the Togo slides back to our favorite view of the city lights over the bay. We start with a slow, thorough kiss.

* * *

The police behave as predicted upon receiving Tracy’s note (written while wearing nitrile gloves, in Bic ink on blank pages torn from a former library book taken from one of the little outdoor free book stands, folded into a re-used envelope with spit-free tape and adhesive stamps, posted in a dropbox over the mountains to the East). However, a different detective instead of Bergen comes into the store to request Mr. Pak to share the store surveillance cam footage from last Saturday. Mr. Pak calls my security company, who assure the new cop that they can provide the unencrypted footage and make the arrangement for sending a copy to the Homeless Killer task team. Once again there’s a stern stand-off with mute Lee and Mr. Pak about reporting information to the police, both remaining defiantly silent and impassive as before.

And then chaos swirls in our favor. At the office, Sharmayne reminds me that I haven’t responded to an invitation to attend a fundraiser to benefit housing for the unsheltered. Normally I resolutely avoid events catering to the pretensions of the wealthy, and seldom reply to the steady stream of invitations – not that organizers are at all deterred by such resistance. 

_Where’s it going to be?_

_At the Swineford mansion this coming Saturday evening._

_Place that looks like an old lumber yard with windows, in the woods overlooking the bay?_

_That’s the one._

_Won some sort of architectural award, didn’t it?_

_Several of them. It’s a green building._

_Tell me Inga Mueller is going to be there._

_She’s the star attraction._

_Give ‘em a call. Tell them I’ll attend, with my own security escorts._

* * *

Somewhat late in the evening. The presentation pitch has been made, Inga has been circulated around, the chef’s weed snacks and interesting cocktails are now having a noticeable effect on the party atmosphere. It isn’t a fancy dress event. Swineford is renowned for his unpretentious demeanor, despite being a billionaire. So the crowd is decked out in various combos of Patagonia with designer something-or-other to signal that they aren’t too downscale or – heaven forfend – middle class. Pearline’s petite litheness, for example, is attractively displayed in black women’s tank top and men’s leggings beneath a Balmain spencer jacket embroidered with silver wings. With cute little Van’s Sk8-hi’s because Casual - but also for traction.

Swineford’s buxom daughter and her college friend are flirting with me, standing a bit too close and falling out of, respectively, magenta and aqua workout leotards and tanktops with chic overall patterns so that not absolutely every bump and cranny is immediately revealed. Pearline’s conversation with Inga pops into my earpiece. 

_He’s rich, he’s good-looking, but they’re wasting their time. He’s ace as they come._

_“Ace?” What is that?_

_Asexual._

_What about that purple-haired homeless boy he’s attached to?_

_So you’ve heard about him, have you?_

_We met on a project that a co-worker is developing._

_That sweet little coffee shop downtown?_

_Yes. Tell me, why is he dressed in tweed?_

_Harris tweed with an ascot is what counts as casual clothing for Detlef._

_You see him often?_

_Not often enough. Shall we rescue him from the chesty chickies? You’d give them a lesson in what to aim for._

Inga’s _“Really!”_ hangs in the air like a shattered frost crystal. Pearline is undeterred, gently slides a companionable hand through Inga’s arm, waving a champagne glass in my direction with the other hand.

_C’mon, honey, let’s give him a treat._

_Who are you?_

_My name is Pearline._

Inga’s glare would make a north wind feel balmy, but I notice she nonetheless allows Pearline to escort her over to me

_Shoo, bunnies. Inga the she-wolf has arrived._

Between my basilisk stare, Pearline’s subtle threat posture, and Inga doing The Ice Empress, the two cuties reluctantly take the hint and wiggle away. Unnoticed by Inga, Pearline reaches back under her jacket and tunes her radio to another channel. Then puts down her champagne flute onto some piece of sculpture masquerading as an end table.

_Whoops. Something’s up. Gotto go._

As frosting on the impertinence cupcake, Pearline gives Inga’s ass a friendly pat before striding away. Inga’s acetylene flame eyes follow her, then return to regard me.

_Who is that . . . person?_

_Security escort. Not the average muscled suit with a crew-cut, wouldn’t you say? Mistook them for a guest, didn’t you._

_I did wonder about those clear tubes in her ears. You’re wearing them, too, I see. Is she really a woman?_

_Depends. Likes to say they can be either Pearl or Earl._

Inga involuntarily scans the crowd for another look, but Pearline is doing a brisk trot out through the door to the entry hall.

Before we can further our conversation, a ripple of attention generates throughout the guests as two standard security suits rush through the same door in the opposite direction to Pearline’s exit, stride through the room like sharks through sardines, coast up to host Swineford. A distant siren can be heard approaching the property. Silence gradually blankets the room as ears strain to hear. After a brief but intense conversation, Swineford directs the two agents toward a male with high gray hair who hurries off back outside with them. Dr. Sanyal, cardiologist, as lucky fate would have it. Muffled conversations blossom and wilt as everyone waits to learn what’s happened. Swineford makes his way over to Inga and me.

_Inga. Something has happened to your driver. Dr. Sanyal is attending. Will you come with me, please._

A short while later Dr. Sanyal returns escorting Inga, who looks about to faint. I’m still standing close to the nearest available armchair, so Sanyal steers in my direction, our host following the pair. Inga sinks into the padded seat, head against the backrest and eyes half-shut as if stunned. I give the closest guests a fuck-off glare and stand guard while Sanyal asks her if she needs a sedative. A slight headshake indicates “No.” 

I move close to Sanyal, query him in a low drillmaster bark:

_What happened, Sanyal?_

Startled, he nonetheless murmurs:

 _A ruptured aortic aneurysm. In my judgment. Severe. Abdomen full of blood. Collapsed on the ground alongside her vehicle. Unconscious. Already in refractory shock when we arrived. She expired as I examined her._ [Gestures to the now obvious flashing lights reflecting in the windows] _They are too late._

He turns to leave, addresses Swineford:

_We must summon the medical examiner. Come back outside with me, please._

_Sanyal. Tell police dispatch to send Detective Eric Bergen. Eric. Bergen. Got that? It’s important._

Once again startled by my tone, Sanyal nods in agreement and gets busy with his phone as he walks toward the door.

Host Swineford gestures to his hovering major-domo to approach, gives him some murmured instructions, and follows Sanyal out. Various personnel touch hands to their ears, then fan out through the crowd. Guests are approached, then quietly depart as their various vehicles circle through the entry drive. 

The room has nearly emptied when Lee jogs in and flings herself into my arms, lips close to my ear. The pupils of her coffee eyes are as wide and black as a cat’s that has just bagged a mouse.

Inga’s eyes open wide then flutter half-closed as she tries not to stare at Lee. Who is in China Doll mode tonight, lotus-pink bob with matching glimmery eye and lips makeup. Graceful in her favorite Berluti cashmere turtleneck, this time in a rich green, fitting like a fuzzy skin and revealing her ballerina bumps. Black riding breeches and boots. She’s my chauffeur for the Mercedes we rented. 

I whisper:

_Lee, what did you do?_

_I killed her._

Mood music: BlackPink "DDU-DU DDU-DU"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IHNzOHi8sJs


	11. Repercussions

Her arms feel like a beartrap around me. I murmur into her ear:

_Lee. We need to get out of here. Now._

She disengages halfway, one hand remaining on my shoulder and clutching a handful of tweed fabric. I keep an arm firmly around her waist, as she seems a bit too light on her feet. As if she’d really like to levitate and float off like a balloon. Instead, her feet are doing a sort of in-place slow-motion shuffle.

_You’re fucking amped. Hold onto me, we have to move._

I wave a goodbye to our astonished host and steer my lit chauffeur outside. The valet crew are an alert bunch – our Mercedes purrs up to the entry, ready to go. The driver gets out and attempts to hand the key to Lee, but I intercept it. I notice them exchanging looks as I recline the passenger seat and plop Lee into it, fasten her seatbelt as I would a kid’s. Hand the crew a couple of benjamins, get in the driver’s seat, and we’re off.

Lee is twisting under her seatbelt as if it’s a strait jacket. 

_Lee. Talk to me. Tell me what you did._

_I told you. I killed her._

_The doctor said it was a ruptured aorta. Not a homicide._

_it was a homicide. An aortic aneurysm. I did it._

_What, you hit her with some secret wu shu blow, or something?_

_No. I was clever. No one will ever guess it was me._

_Am I going to have to beg you to tell me the details?_

_No. I will tell you the whole story. There was a little pavilion set up for the drivers and valets. It was nice. Portable heaters provided warmth. They had an espresso station and food. Tasty little snacks and desserts like bacon-wrapped-_

_It’s OK to skip the menu. Man-of-the-People Swineford likes to treat his underlings well. So, not the usual coffee and doughnuts. Please continue._

_Yes. Some of the drivers were playing poker at one of the tables. I sat behind one of them and asked if I could watch, as the game was different from the poker I knew. She said it was Texas hold ‘em and offered to teach me how. Then after awhile she asked me if I wanted to play, too. The other players didn’t mind, thinking I would be an easy mark. They made room for my chair, we all introduced ourselves, and they dealt me in on the next hand._

_Don’t tell me you swept the board._

_Oh no. That would be stupid._

_Yep. Control the outcome so you lose by just a little bit, am I right? Makes the humans feel smart and doesn’t give them any reason to remember you. Is that Stratagem 27 or 34? I forget._

_Number 34. “Injure yourself to gain trust.” I was down a few dollars when the killer walked in and went over to the espresso bar. I put down my cards and jumped up as if I was anxious to converse with her. She was smoking a cigarette while she waited for her coffee. We had a brief conversation as I filled a plate with snacks. She reacted with contempt. Threw her cigarette at me as she turned and strolled back to their car. I put down my plate and did the ddu-du ddu-du pistol shot wiggle at her back, which made watchers laugh._

For once I get a pop music reference, as Joy and Lee had practiced this dance routine a few days ago and I’d watched along on my phone. A couple of Korean women in the coffee shop had piped up and sung karaoke to it as well. Apparently it’s a classic. Explains Lee’s Jisoo look tonight.

_You’re really enjoying this tale, aren’t you._

_Yes. I am savoring each moment of the memory. When I walked back to the table with the snacks, the other players asked what I said to “that witch.” I had spoken very quietly. All they heard were Emina’s replies. I told them the conversation went like this:_

_“Is Inga attracted to Detlef?”_

_“You’re a fucking fool.”_

_“I was thinking, maybe if she was, you and I could go out for a drink sometime.”_

_“In your dreams, you tranny moron.”_

_The laughed and told me I was seriously nuts to try to catch fish in that tree. Emina was very much disliked. A cold and arrogant bitch who stayed in her car and never mingled with the other drivers. They’d have warned me off her if I’d only asked. One bearish male said I was lucky she hadn’t slapped me, which made the others laugh._

_Sounds like there was some prior story there, eh?_

_Yes. I could see they were also curious to know if I was really trans, but no one said anything. I shared the snack plate around, and we resumed our game._

_OK, now tell me what you really said to Emina._

_I said,_

_“I know you are the homeless killer.” And,_

_“You will not escape me. I am going to kill you.”_

_You didn’t touch her?_

_No. I kept my hands occupied with filling the snack plate. We continued playing a long while, until one of valets came running in and asked if anyone was an EMT. She said one of the chauffeurs was in bad shape. Said she’d already called 911 but didn’t think they’d get here in time. We all jumped up and followed her back to Inga’s SUV while two security staff ran off to the main house. I was in the back of the crowd, but I could see Emina on the ground, clutching her abdomen and moaning. The car door was open, as if she had fallen out. She screamed at the EMT to keep away when he tried to feel her neck pulse. He told us to stand further back, so we all did. One of the other chauffeurs produced a safety kit and pulled out a space blanket, which he tried to lay over her. But she thrashed around and threw it off. She began to lose consciousness. The EMT tried again to feel her pulse, and said she was in shock. Then the old doctor came bustling up. Emina died while he tried to minister to her._

_So when exactly did you kill her?_

_I created the aneurysm with the pistol shot move as she walked back to their car. And then willed it to rupture once enough time had passed that I could not be implicated in her death. When I was considering what method to use, I decided that a natural-appearing death would raise fewer questions than poison or violence. I knew about these aneurysms from working in hospitals. Usually they afflict older males, but I hope that will not raise questions during the autopsy. They will see that her lungs already have a lot of tar from smoking, and so may consider that a contributing cause. If a large aneurysm ruptures, the blood loss can kill very quickly. The heart just keeps on pumping, you know, until it quivers and stops. And the pain is severe._

_You can do that at a distance, without touching the person?_

_Yes! That’s what’s so exciting. I’ve never been able to do that before. I’ve always had to use violence, and usually a weapon._

And then she abruptly comes down and lands with a crash. Writhes in her seat, groans, starts to shiver and gasp.

_Lee. I’m going to pull over somewhere. Keep a grip._

Swineford’s sprawling shack is adjacent to a forest preserve containing a side road that snakes off along the coastline. I steer that way, park at a scenic pullout atop a cliff, turn off the car and headlights. Outside is still and dark as black velvet. No horizon between the ocean and the sky, only the faintest glimmer from the waves hissing onto the rocks far below. 

Lee has already released herself and collides with me as I come around the front of the car. I pull her hands off my jacket lapels and place them around my waist, enfold her in a tight embrace as she vibrates against me.

_Lee! Lee. Talk to me. What is it?_

_Killing a human. I am a Healer. I am not supposed to kill. I used my knowledge to . . . to . . . destroy._

_You destroyed a monster, Lee. Consider it social surgery._

_The Apparitions never saw it that way. They used to sequester me whenever I killed someone._

_Sequester you? Like, lock you up?_

_Yes._

_How was that possible? You can dissociate matter._

_They buried me in deep caverns. Left me alone in the dark and cold. One time, it took me almost a century to dissociate a pathway out. I got lost._

_Christ Almighty. And I thought my side were the merciless ones. No wonder you’ve got the shakes._

I transform into a woman, dissipate our clothing, levitate a bit so Lee’s face is pressed against my breasts, dive backwards over the stone wall and down the cliffside. My hair lengthens and floats pleasantly in the air currents as we drift back and forth, languid as a falling leaf. The scent of forest permeates the mountainside air spilling down over the cliff to meet the salty updraft from below. Lee gradually stops trembling.

_Let your hair grow out. It feels good._

_Hmmm . . . Yes . . . You are so warm . . ._

She entwines her limbs around me and moves her cool body against mine, giving me a fleeting impression that I’m in the coils of a giant snake. We savor the drifting about in each other’s embrace for a couple of hours. Occasional headlights flare through the gloom, including a state trooper who stops and shines a portable searchlight down upon the rocks below. Must be a favorite suicide site. We darken our skins and hair and drift around the cliffside out of view. 

* * *

Late Sunday night. We’re curled up like two cats on the Togo sofa, relaxing in the glow of our prior sextasy session. My head is on Lee’s stomach as he plays with my hair.

_Lee, why did being buried alive not stop you from killing people?_

He takes a very deep breath, then wriggles a bit to relax as he slowly exhales.

_I was always in the floating world, and life there is fraught._

_The floating world?_

_People who are outcasts. You know- Performers. Prostitutes. Bandits. Beggars. Slaves. Occupations considered disgusting – shit collectors, butchers, tanners . . ._

_Why did the Apparitions send you out into that lot?_

_They wanted to enlighten humanity. Keep them content with their fate in life. I was supposed to spread virtue among the low and unruly people, so they could be humble and hard-working and harmonious._

_But you couldn’t get with that program?_

_No. You know how humans are. Fearful. Greedy. They admit it themselves. The low people are no worse than anyone else._

_I’ve noticed that, too._

_Always I wound up doing just what I’m doing now – making friends in the floating world, but eventually having to kill someone. Sometimes a lot of someones. I learned to be wily so the Bodhis would not blame me._

_Bodhis?_

_That’s what the Apparitions on my side liked to call themselves. Your side - the Others - they nick-named “Asuras.”_

_Got it._

He falls silent for awhile as he runs wiry fingers through my hair.

_So, you’ve basically been on a twelve thousand year killing spree? That’s some rich irony, considering how your side liked to swank around as noble and superior beings averse to violence._

_Do you think I’m a monster, Detlef?_

_Oh stop it. Some humans just need killing. My side operated as if half the population fit into that category. Wipe out whole swathes of ‘em at a time, that sort of thing. Cleanse the earth. The Four Horsemen were not myths._

_She was going to kill again. I feared for the Paks. The humans were moving too slowly to capture her._

_No doubt about it. What you did was a public service. Protecting the weak. My side would have disapproved, if that’s any comfort._

_Yes. It is._

His hand moves to caress my shoulders.

_Detlef, have you killed many humans?_

_Sure. As you discovered, it’s impossible not to. But never the low vermin I was supposed to clean up. I like to go for the big game . . . Also, I killed and ate an Apparition once._

He stiffens and gasps:

_No! You killed one of the Bodhis?_

_Wasn’t one of yours. An Asura from my side. It was small, so I’m probably a baby killer to boot._

_How did you do it?_

_By accident. You know how humans have small dogs that can be yappy and snappy? This little spud used to have fun zapping me for no reason, jeering at me for being dirty and material. One day it got a bit too close into my personal aura. . . and I just sort of evaporated and absorbed it. I could feel it extinguish._

_Was that . . . satisfying?_

_Felt great! Lit me up like a nova. Highlight of my existence prior to meeting you._

_Were you punished?_

_Oh yeah. Abyss roasted me until I longed for extinction._

My arms involuntarily tighten around Lee and I have to deliberately make myself loosen up.

_On the plus side, the other Apparitions kept their distance from then on. Also, I think it makes me the winner in the Who’s-A-Monster contest. So tough luck, you’ll just have to accept second place in that one._

We’re quiet and thoughtful for a longish while, gazing out into the darkness and city lights below. Finally I break the silence.

_Well, so much for reminiscing about good times past. Let’s try to never do it again, shall we?_

I give Lee a knuckle to the ribs, and he squirms and giggles. 

_And what kind of fun might you enjoy next, my tranny moron lover?_

Lee grins.

_I like when you kiss me all over and then do oral sex on me. After that, I could kiss you all over, become female and envelop you. If you like._

_Excellent plan. Let the games begin._

His blissful little sighs are pure catnip.

* * *

Late evening at Sacred Grounds, close to closing. Lee and Joy have finished their dance practice and are wolfing, respectively, chocolate cake and Milk Bar pie. And then Detective Bergen walks in and heads directly to our table.

He’s looking rocky. Gray hoodie, jeans, dark glasses. Missed the morning shave. A distinct aroma of alcohol. No special powers needed to detect that he’s wearing depression like a black fog. Without asking, he pulls out the remaining chair and sits next to Joy, across from me and Lee. Pushes his glasses up onto his head.

_Detective Bergen._

_You're Detlef Falkenreck, right?_

_Call me Detlef._

He nods.

_Mr. Lee. And I believe you are Ms. Joy Pak?_

The two nod silently.

_You will note that I am not armed or wearing my badge. I’m not here to question you about the Homeless Killer case. It’s no longer an official concern of mine. Because my career is finished. I’m on leave, but once that’s over, I’ll have to quit the force._

_Because you were Emina’s lover?_

He recovers quickly.

_Not exactly. While I’d very much like to learn how you obtained your information, you should know that it was precisely one date and one night. She left before I woke up. This was months ago._

_Did she take your uniform?_

_How did you guess?_

_You said you weren’t going to be asking questions._

_Right. To continue. We got a letter from someone who claimed to be a witness to the latest Homeless Murders. So when we collected that security video footage from Saturday afternoon - from your shop, Ms. Pak – and I saw who was on it, I went straight to the Chief and told her I’d been briefly involved with Emina, and that I had to be pulled from the case. Emina was a brunette when I knew her, not blonde, but she’s unmistakable. Her and Inga showing up in a little convenience store the day after the latest homeless murder in that vicinity was . . ._

_Too unlikely a coincidence?_

_Yeah. After seeing the Chief, I left the office and went straight to my apartment to look in my closet. Because the letter said the killer was dressed like a cop. My blues were gone. And then we found Emina’s storage locker . . ._

_The contents were quite gruesome, I understand._

He looks as if he’s once again going to ask me how I got that information, but checks himself.

_Christ. I wasn’t at the scene, of course. But my partner filled me in. You can imagine the grilling I’ve undergone after my blues were found, neatly pressed and hanging alongside all the body parts and souvenirs._

_So your police career is now over._

_Is it ever. I’m the cop who got roofied by the Homeless Killer and let her steal my uniform. It’s only thanks to the Chief that I haven’t been jailed as an accessory. Half the force thinks I’m Emina’s accomplice, the other half Is laughing their asses off. I requested immediate termination, but the Chief said I should use up my leave._

_A vote of confidence on her part. You’re lucky she’s the right stuff._

_Yeah. She booked me for sessions with our psychologist and had me turn in my sidearm to her personally._

Lee murmurs:

_You are not considering suicide?_

_Oh, I considered that straight away. And decided I wasn’t going to add to the Homeless Killer’s bag count, even if indirectly._

_So why are you here?_

_Chief warned me that the shit is going to hit the fan tomorrow. The media are circling like sharks. The online scene is already frothing. She has to issue a statement that the Homeless Killer has likely been identified and is now dead. Lee, Ms. Pak, I followed you two here to warn you._

He’s not lying about that – my security agents shadowed him on the way here.

_Warn us? About what?_

_I think you and your parents should close your shop for a while. Hire a lawyer as your spokesperson._

I back him up.

_He’s right. Once it gets out how video from your shop provided a link to the presumed killer, you’re going to be dogged mercilessly. Even if she’s dead, and there isn’t going to be a trial._

_We . . . we can’t afford a lawyer!_

_I can. And I think your family should stay elsewhere tonight. Lee and I will take you home and help you and your parents get out of town until this drops down in the news cycle._

_We can’t just close the store for a month._

_Probably won’t be more than a week. Maybe two. Nobody cares all that much about the homeless. And Inga’s a much more newsworthy target than your family._

I turn to Bergen.

_You think Emina had an accomplice, don’t you._

_You’re positively a fucking psychic, Detlef. That frosty blonde babe she worked for heading the list. You and your boy Lee here coming in next._

Joy fluffs up like an angry bird:

_That’s ridiculous! Lee is a kind and gentle person._

Bergen and I exchange steady stares. Then he addresses Joy.

_Ms. Pak, I understand your sentiments. But I’m a trained detective, and I’ve learned to trust my intuition. I understand you were away on a camping trip the weekend the murders occurred._

Yeah. 

_Did you know that Lee made his deliveries of expiring food to the homeless late at night that Friday? instead of early in the evening, like he usually does?_

She looks at Lee, who shrugs. She turns back to Bergen.

_Detlef told us something had come up. That they’d be back later._

_Detlef accompanied Lee on these deliveries?_

_Well, just recently._

Bergen flicks his eyes toward me. I’m guessing this little fact hadn’t slipped out until now. He resumes questioning Joy.

_Have you seen the store video footage for the Saturday afternoon after the murders?_

_Well, yeah. After the police wanted a copy, Mom and Dad and I watched it. That girl came in and told Lee she recognized the killer._

_A lucky break for us police, eh? Detlef and Lee have covered their tracks pretty well. But there isn’t a doubt in my mind that they weren’t involved in what’s gone down these past weeks. The woman in the video has disappeared. We’ve been unable to locate her. We’re hoping she isn’t dead._

I murmur:

_It’s dangerous to be a witness when a killer’s on the loose._

We lock eyes again.

_Bergen, you’ve put yourself in jeopardy by contacting us tonight._

_Yeah. I’m probably circling the obstructing justice pond by suggesting Lee and the Paks should lie low. Especially if they disappear, too._

Joy opens her mouth to interject, but I hold up a hand to quiet her.

_They’ll be safe. But you and I need to talk. I’ll send a phone around to you tonight._

_I’m guessing you already know where I live._

_Of course._

_Well, I’ll be off then._ [a nod to Lee, lingering look at Joy] _Good luck._

Joy’s gaze follows him out the door. Lee and I exchange glances. He’s got 15 years on her. But handsome, shrewd, protective, and in trouble are some high cards.


	12. Bergen

We’re seated in that one booth of the hotel café where we can watch the entire room. Lee is in Grasshopper Mode, wearing his sprayed-on lime Berluti cashmere turtleneck and gangster trousers. No face jewelry today, just casual pretty makeup and pale steely blue hair. Bergen walks in, orders something, and inquires of the counter clerk, who nods in our direction. He limps slightly as he makes his way over and sits, hands on the table but leaning back into his chair. Today he’s clean-shaven and natty in his sportscoat and jeans, nonetheless looking a bit rocky, as if he’s struggling with a hangover. Possibly a drunken misstep off a curb last night. A brief welcoming nod from Lee, who continues to shovel in forkfuls of Sacher torte between sips of cocoa.

_Detective Bergen._

_Just “Bergen” is fine. I don’t foresee being a detective much longer._

_You’re on administrative leave?_

He nods curtly.

_Does that mean you must remain in town, or can you travel?_

_I’m supposed to remain at home during working hours. Did you get the girl and her family out of town?_

I sense that Lee has also picked up on who got listed first in that query. 

_Yes. Private jet to Hawaii. And I have security staff in the islands to escort them around. The son did not want to travel. Has engineering labs. I spoke with him last night about stonewalling any press inquiries. And I have a security team tailing him, just to be sure._

We remain silent while Bergen’s coffee is delivered. He takes a sip.

_Bergen, you have an advanced degree in criminology. Why are you working as a detective?_

_‘S what I always wanted to be. Ever since reading Sherlock Holmes as a kid. Most kids get over it. I didn’t._

_The job provides you with satisfaction?_

_You could say that. I fucking love it._

_Are you ambitious to become Chief of Police or some similar leadership position?_

_Fuck that._

_Promotion and salary increase are not a concern?_

_I’m single. No kids. Already earn more money than I know how to spend. And the last thing I want is a promotion to a supervisory job._

_Your bank account shows steady cash withdrawals._

_And just how the fuck do you know that?_

We lock eyes for some long seconds. Then:

_You investment bankers really know how to dig into the details, eh? Or should I say, you money launderers?_

_Where does the cash go?_

_To my string of informants. Our departmental expense budget is pathetic._

_Informants in the homeless population?_

_Yes. I’ve been on the Homeless Killer task team for the past three years. That woman Tracy was one of my contacts. And now that she’s disappeared, the rumor going around the camps is that she called down the hit on Ivan and has run away._

_She hated Ivan?_

_Seemed to be your standard abusive relationship. Ivan was an alcoholic. Knocked her around a lot. Tracy was seen speaking with a uniformed cop a couple of times. I was curious about that. Why a patrol officer was visiting the camps. One guy said he thought she was talking to me, in uniform instead of plainclothes._

_It was Emina, wearing your stolen uniform?_

_No doubt. Too fucking bad I didn’t make more of an effort to run that one down. Ivan’s Russian pals and the friends of that tweaker couple who were also killed are the ones spreading suspicion about Tracy having some role in the killings. They think Tracy slipped Jenny and Tyler some bad meth. That doesn’t add up for me, though. Tracy wasn’t a dealer. Although she probably helped them score. She never had a bad thing to say about Jenny and Tyler. I figured she kept close to them to minimize being killed by Ivan._

_Were the couple already dead by the time Emina showed up?_

_Forensics said they were likely unconscious. The meth they used was cut with fentanyl. Evidently there was a bad batch going around. Ivan was drunk. Explains why Emina managed to kill three people at once. Tracy was reported to be out trying to bum cigarettes that night, but nobody had a pack to exchange for a blow job and she wasn’t reducing the price. So when the Homeless Killer strikes for the first time in the downtown part of the city, and Tracy fortuitously escapes being killed, then disappears, people get talking. Wait’ll the bit about my stolen uniform gets around. If I were Tracy, I’d leave town._

_What made you suspect Emina had accomplices?_

_The scuttlebutt about Tracy, for starters. And Lee out making deliveries right around the time of the murders. Plus vague worries about Inga and her creepy chauffeur. Especially after those two addicts overdosed in that new building Inga designed. But the main tipoff was that video footage of Inga and Emina showing up in that little store to have a chat with Lee. That was hinky as all hell. Ditto Tracy ratting out Emina to Lee. Just a bit too tidy._

_Did your suspicions about Emina arise before or after you dated her?_

Bergen shifts his weight in his chair, then grimaces in pain. Maybe the ankle and hangover, maybe the memories.

_After. I met her at a club._

_Or she met you._

_Yeah. I’m starting to think that’s how it went down._

_Was she there with Inga?_

_No. She was alone. Or maybe not. I remember initially thinking she was accompanied by some fat guy in an expensive suit and flashy jewelry. But he drifted away after speaking with her briefly, so I figured she’d just blown off his advance and was more interested in me._

He grimaces, then mutters:

_Always too fucking easy to flatter ourselves, isn’t it._

_No need to beat yourself up for optimism. Your initial suspicion was correct. He was one of Emina’s accomplices. But not in her murders. Blackmail and extortion. Of Inga._

_And just exactly how the fuck did you discover all that?_

_Lee stole Emina’s phone. We know all her contacts now. My security team has been shadowing them._

_You’re fucking shitting me._

Lee’s uses a finger to wipe a small dab of whipped cream from his upper lip, then softly replies:

_Oh no. I was on the outside of the crowd that had gathered around Emina when she was dying. She must have tried to make a call on her phone, then dropped it and exited the car, getting several yards away before she collapsed. The car door was open. I saw a corner of the phone on the floor. Worked my way around and pocketed it while everyone else was focused on Emina’s screams._

_You realize you’ve just admitted to tampering with evidence and obstruction of justice? To a cop?_

Lee turns him back over to me.

_The phone would have been useless in proving a case against Emina as the Homeless Killer. There was no match between the location tracking and the sites of the murders. She wasn’t so stupid as to carry a phone on her butchering forays._

_How’d you fucking crack the phone that quickly? Don’t tell me your office has access to that Cellebrite and GrayKey shit – in addition to everyone’s bank accounts._

_I have my methods. Perhaps a bit more advanced than what is available to the police._

Such as The Almighty taking up half the penthouse.

_Yet another perk of being a billionaire?_

_Perhaps._

It’s actually trillionaire, but no human is likely to discover this. My financial tentacles have had thousands of years to run deep.

_What about her contacts? Any match between them and the kill sites?_

_No. They knew she was an assassin, of course. As did Inga._

_Is the Pak family in danger from them?_

_Doubtful. They seem to be surprised about Emina being the Homeless Killer. And are now somewhat in disarray. What interests me is how you intuited that Emina was not working alone._

_Even if I had the wrong suspects?_

_Maybe you didn’t. But you’d have straightened that out eventually. Your problem solving skills are impressive._

_Bullshit. We worked on the Homeless Killer case for three fucking years and we were getting nowhere._

_You were circling closer. You didn’t date Emina simply because you thought she was your type, did you._

A long pause.

_No. She had a shifty vibe. I was curious. Just on general cop principles._

He makes a face, slaps his hands onto his thighs.

_Just not curious enough to check the back of my fucking closet. Fuck me._

Lee leans forward, places a hand atop Bergen’s. 

_Do not chastise yourself. There is no need. Here, I can help your hangover and twisted ankle._

_Christ. Your hand is cold as the morgue._

_Do you feel better? Is your pain gone?_

Lee raises his head and gazes directly into Bergen’s eyes.

Bergen reacts as if Lee were a king cobra. Freezes. Would slowly sink into the padded back of his chair if he could only withdraw his hand. Struggles to control his breathing, but there’s the ghost of a quaver in his voice.

_Shit. You killed Emina, didn’t you._

Lee remains silent, hoods his eyes as he withdraws his hand, leans back, and takes a last bite of cake.

_You’ve got eyes right out of the fucking psych ward. Who are you - Doctor Death?_

Lee murmurs,

_My eyes frighten Detlef, too._

Bergen regards me.

_Now that’s ironic, Cateyes. Seeing as how you fucking watch people like a cougar stalking deer. Do you ever blink?_

A long silence around the table. 

Bergen takes a deep breath and sits up straight, hands on his knees.

_You two aren’t entirely human, are you._

_Not entirely, no._

_So . . . What are you? Aliens? Angels? Lizard People?_

_None of those things. The supernatural creatures of human stories don’t exist._

_What are you then?_

_We are called Binaries. Creatures with dual supernatural and material aspects._

_Like humans have souls?_

_Humans do not have souls. That is a myth._

_No afterlife for us, then?_

_No. You are purely material._

Bergen pauses briefly to consider the implications of that. Swallows hard. Then shrugs.

_Well, that’s fucking heavy. So, what the fuck are you doing here?_

_We don’t know._

_You’re telling me you’re just as much in the dark about The Meaning of Life as the rest of us?_

_Yes._

_Can you, like, go off to some higher spiritual plane? Or other planets?_

_No. Our material aspect is tailored to this world._

_So, you’re like superhumans?_

_Or material Apparitions._

_Apparitions?_

_Purely supernatural beings. Our former commanders. Their manifestations likely influenced most human legends about mythical beings._

_Just how long have you been on Earth, anyway?_

_About twelve thousand years._

_Christ Almighty._

He thinks a moment.

_What do you mean by “former commanders”?_

_They have withdrawn from this world and abandoned us here._

_You’re like fucking marooned on Earth?_

_Yes._

_And if you’ve been hanging around for twelve thousand years, you must be immortal?_

_Yes._

_Christ. That’s one fucking hell of a life sentence._

Lee softly interjects:

_Or perhaps we are at last allowed to feast and enjoy ourselves._

_Feast? You’re not vampires or something like that?_

_Vampires are a human myth. We have found it best to view life as a banquet, not a prison sentence. We would like to see more humans participate in the enjoyment and less in the exclusion and starvation._

That’s news to me, but I can roll with it. Lee takes my hand. We sit in silence. Then Bergen gestures toward Lee.

_So if you’re Death . . ._

He turns to me and gestures with his other hand.

_. . . moneybags here must be Taxes._

I love this human. Lee cocks his head and gives me a querying look.

_An old European quip, Lee. From the 18 th century. There is nothing certain in human life except death and taxes._

And then Lee does something startling. He breaks into a huge grin, his upper lip uncovering a long stretch of even white teeth with pointed incisors. Then laughs. And laughs. And laughs. I’ve seldom seen him smile or do more than softly chuckle. And now this. I myself have never laughed during my entire existence. 

His laughter is a melodious chortling. And like a human caught up in hilarity, it takes him awhile to settle back down and stop breaking into gasping giggles. Although Lee hasn’t been loud, heads have turned in our direction.

_Time for us to go, Bergen. When you've reached a decision about whether to stay with the police, call me. From a location other than your apartment._

Lee and I rise.

_Right. So, I take it you’re not going to kill me for knowing too much?_

_No._

_As if anyone would believe me if I told them._

_Precisely._

_Then I think I’ll stay and eat something. I skipped breakfast. And thanks for taking care of my hangover and ankle._

Lee murmurs,

_You’re most welcome. The ham and cheese croissant is delicious. If you like chocolate, you should try the Sacher torte. We’ll send the waiter over._

A sly smile. He slips his arm into mine.

_Taxes here will cover the tab._


	13. Tracy

[ ](https://imgur.com/Gwa7T5b)

We’re in the parking garage, alongside the Subaru. 

_Where do you want to go now that you don’t have to show up at the store for a while?_

_I would like to stay in the apartment. To work with The Almighty on training the Spots. What time will you be back?_

I generally keep old-time banker’s hours, to accommodate activities outside the investment firm. 

_Around 3:30. We need to meet up with Pearline and Tracy this afternoon._

He slips his arms beneath my suit jacket and up my back, soft lips nuzzling just below my ear.

_Kiss me._

This takes a while. His skinny body in that cashmere sweater, slowly moving against me, is like embracing a fuzzy python. Then he pulls back, pokes me in the stomach with a bony finger.

_I must go before I get more excited._

Grasshopper skips away to the private elevator. I manage to keep a grip and not follow him. Slowly coast the car out of the garage and take my time in the streets to relax. Contemplate how best to subtract funds from our nefarious clients of the day - always a diverting exercise.

* * *

[ ](https://imgur.com/GF3vz4s)

Pearline rubs a hand over Lee’s fuzzy green arm and gives him a little pat on the backside.

_Nice! Berlutti? You all go sit down in the lounge. I’ll get busy at the espresso machine._

Some moments later Pearline hands me my cappuccino and the four of us sit around sipping our various beverages. Tracy has about gotten over her surprise at Lee’s transformation from Goodwill chic in dork eyeglasses to Italian designer cashmere, blue hair, and glam eye makeup, and is now looking shifty. I decide to cut to the chase.

_Tracy. Lee and I had a little chat with Detective Bergen this morning._

Tracy puts down her mug of cinnamon milk and clenches her hands together in her lap.

_He told us you had been seen talking to Emina when she was pretending to be a cop._

She looks stricken.

_Tell us about that._

_She came over once when we were in the underpass camp. Ivan was yelling and shoving me around. He and his friends had been playing cards and drinking all afternoon. He was mad that I wouldn’t go out and get more vodka for them._

_What did she do?_

_I didn’t know she was a woman. I thought she was a man. Ivan and his friends ran off when they saw her walking in our direction. His friends are illegal. She called to me to stop, so I did. She asked what the problem was. I told her they wanted me to get more booze but wouldn’t give me any money. She said she didn’t like to see women get roughed up. I was expecting the usual lecture about going to a women’s shelter, but she slipped me a twenty instead and walked off._

_Bergen says you were one of his informants._

_Yeah. That’s why the next time I saw her, I approached and asked her if she was related to him._

_You’d noticed the name tag on the uniform._

_Yeah._

_What did she say?_

_That she was his second cousin. So I figured it was safe to talk to her. That he knew she was around._

_And you never wondered that she might not be a man?_

_I . . . well, yeah, I did think her voice sounded a bit high for a guy. But it didn’t occur to me that she might be a lesbian or something. I mean, cops are a pretty macho bunch._

_You didn’t question why she was always alone? Cops work in pairs._

_Actually, I was kinda curious about that. Why she was doing a foot patrol all by herself. Usually the cops drive through. Detective Bergen always had a partner in their car._

_So your meetings with her accounts for how you recognized her so easily in the dark, that night of the murders?_

_Yeah. She was wearing the same dark glasses. I knew it was her. Except I thought she was a him._

_Thus your surprise when you saw Ivan’s bracelet in the video on the hand of a woman?_

_Yeah._

_So tell me, Tracy, why you didn’t share this information with us?_

She twists around in her armchair and draws her knees up in a crouch, her hand plucking at the fabric of her pants. She swallows hard.

_Did you tell her you wished Ivan was dead?_

An anguished look.

_Yeah. . . . I mean, sort of. One day she showed up and asked me if I loved Ivan. I said no. I was afraid of him. He kept creeps away, but when he got drunk he got violent. She asked me why I hadn’t gone to a women’s shelter. I told her I had, once. But Ivan stalked me and found me. He threatened to kill me if I tried to leave him._

_What did she say to that?_

Tracy chokes up.

_She . . . she said maybe it was time to get Ivan out of my life. Then she walked off. I thought she was just dishing out the usual bullshit about me having to take charge of my life. Like, as if._

Lee murmurs:

_So when Emina killed Ivan, you thought it was your fault? That you’d led her to him?_

She nods her head. Her mouth is quivering. Tears trickle down. She manages to choke out:

_I got Jenny and Tyler killed, too._

_Forensics says they were already going terminal from a fentanyl O.D._

_I told them not to trust that shit! That they should stick with Rose. But they wouldn’t listen to me._

_Did they know it was fentanyl?_

_No! They thought it was vitamin K._

_Were they unconscious when you left to find cigarettes?_

_No. They had just done their lines. I didn’t want to stick around with them dozy and Ivan drunk._

_So you took your time finding the cigarettes Ivan wanted._

_Yeah. I hoped he would be passed out when I got back._

She’s now crying steadily. Lee gets up, perches on the arm of her chair, puts his arm around her shoulders. Pearline gives her a handful of tissues. We all remain silent as the sobs gradually diminish to sniffling. She twists a tissue into shreds.

_I feel so guilty._

_About not being all that unhappy about Ivan’s death?_

A flare of anger:

_Ivan didn’t deserve to die that way! And Jenny and Tyler . . ._

_Were already on the way out before Emina got to them. Bergen says Jenny and Tyler’s pals are spreading rumors that you’d set them up with some bad dope._

_I didn’t get that shit for them! They got it themselves from some weaselly little Asian who’s been sneaking around._

Pearline interjects:

_One of the Jade Dragonz?_

_I dunno. Maybe. He was wearing a green jacket._

Pearline and I exchange looks. She gives a slight nod, indicating she’ll relay this tidbit on to interested parties. I continue:

_Ivan’s friends are also spreading suspicion that you fingered a hit on him. Because you’ve disappeared. At first everyone thought you were probably dead, too. But your body hasn’t turned up. So now the gossip has shifted toward your having run away. Once word gets out that the killer was dressed in Bergen’s cop uniform . . ._

_No! You’re joking!_

_Nope. She stole it from him. Bad one night stand._

_So that’s why her uniform had the Bergen name tag?_

_Yep._

_Oh god. Oh god. They know I talked with Bergen. And that bitch. They’ll think I led her to Ivan. They’ll kill me if they find me._

She’s not faking terror. Her face is chalky and clammy, eyes wide, mouth drawn back in a fear grimace. Lee leans in and tightens his hug across her shoulders, places his palm on her forehead and slowly smooths back her hair. She relaxes noticeably.

Pearline purrs:

_Honey, you can’t possibly be thinking you’re gonna return to the camps._

_No! No way. . . . It’s just that Ivan’s friends . . . get around. I think they’re Russian gang bangers. I saw some suit talking to them once. The guy was fat and shady looking. Had one of those black SUVs with dark windows._

This is getting more interesting by the minute. I decide to have a little chat with The Fat Man. But first we need to deal with Tracy.

_Tracy, you’ve probably been giving some thought as to where you might go next from here?_

_It’s pretty much all I’ve been thinking about. But . . ._

_You don’t know what to do?_

_I’ve already tried everything I can think of. I dropped out of community college after one quarter. I just can’t cut office work. Or retail. Or waitressing. The pay is always shit for the amount of crap you have to take. I like to drive. But driving cab is dangerous if you’re a woman alone._

_Not as dangerous as turning tricks?_

_No, actually. But I’m not all that great at that, either. Even if the money is way better._

_Pearline says the only addiction you have is nicotine._

_My parents had me on ADHD drugs. I quit that shit as soon as I left home._

_That’s the reason you don’t drink or do other drugs? Apart from the smoking._

_Yeah. They scare me, bad. Smoking seems to help me be less scattered. But I’d like to quit. Because I don’t want to die from lung cancer. The nicotine patches Pearline has been giving me work great._

_You’re not getting bored an anxious, even though you’ve been pretty much cooped up here?_

Pearline murmurs:

_Video games. Got her a Switch._

_They’re so much fun! I love Stardew Valley! And Just Dance!_

Pearline and I exchange glances. I’m continually impressed by her way of homing in on someone’s needs. If she were a Binary, she’d be a Tempter, like me.

Lee perks up:

_Can you do “Ice Cream” by Black Pink?_

Pearline purrs:

_Oh yeah. We getting’ good at that one._

_What about “Ddu-du Ddu-du?” It’s a good arm workout._

Pearline turns to Tracy.

_Our boy Lee here is quite the dancer. He and his girlfriend won a prize at The Blue Roof K-pop competition._

Tracy looks up at Lee as if surprised he might have a girlfriend. Pearline smirks at me. 

Time to get back on track.

_How about you three do a dance practice before we leave? But right now, let’s get back to our problem at hand. About the driving thing, Tracy. Did you ever try to get a chauffer’s license?_

_No. They want to fingerprint you. And, like I said, driving cab is dangerous. So I thought about it. But I never did it._

_OK. Here’s the deal. If the press finds you, they’ll offer you money for your story. But you’ll be in the spotlight, making it easy for the people you’re afraid of to find you. Also, you’re too likely to accidentally blab information that will get other people in trouble. So we need to get you out of town._

_I can’t go home to my parents._

_Of course not. I’m thinking a commercial driver’s school might be your ticket out._

_You mean, learn how to drive a truck?_

_Yes. I happen to own a freight company. We hire only women drivers. Company pays for tuition, food and lodging, and a small stipend. If you pass the exam, you contract with us for one year. There’s a school down the coast in _____________ that we use._

_How soon can I start?_

I chalk up that answer not to ADHD impulsivity, but to being smart enough to grab a lifeline when it appears.

_Not as soon as you’d like. I think we should give you a new identity. Journalists and online searchers can be annoyingly persistent in tracking people down. Worse than detectives. Think you could handle changing into someone else?_

_I . . . I don’t know._

_We can deal with getting new paperwork such as a G.E.D. and social security._

Pearline:

_You’ll probably do OK on the drug test, but we can give you a follicle cleanse just to be on the safe side._

_Then there’s passing the Department of Motor Vehicles physical, and a new driver’s license. You do know how to drive, right?_

_Sure. I haven’t done it for awhile, though. I might need some practice._

_Detlef, can we get some beater? I don’t want to mess up my sweet Lexus._

_All that’s easy. But. One of the hardest things for most people is getting used to a strange new name. The standard advice is to use something similar to your given name, or to some relative’s name. Like using “Stacy” instead of “Tracy.” Unfortunately, digital searches will ferret out that sort of thing._

I recall the time a group of online vigilantes tracked down and nailed some Russian assassins because the killers used variants of their wives’ maiden surnames.

_When I was a little kid, I used to have imaginary friends called Ginger and Belle. I could use Ginger._

Pearline chips in:

_You’d make a good redhead._

_No. Stick with that toffee blonde. Less memorable than red hair. And your last name should be common as dirt, to confuse the trail. Smith. Johnson. Jones._

_“Ginger Johnson” is easy to say._

Pearline again:

_You’d wanna stay away from “Ginger Belle Johnson,” though. Unless you want to be a stripper instead of a truck driver._

Tracy actually giggles.

_So, “Ginger B. Jones,” maybe?_

Once again I ruin the fun:

_“Williams.” No sex pun undertones that will trigger memory retention in listeners. Ginger B. Williams._

Pearline rises and goes to the kitchen.

_I’m gonna make another cappuccino for me and Detlef. Tracy, Lee, you want another cinnamon milk? That stuff in your mugs is cold and nasty by now._

We all agree, pick up our crockery and adjourn to the kitchen counter stools.


	14. Cat Elf

[ ](https://imgur.com/ZYYW0SB)

Immediately we’re inside the apartment, Lee transforms to female, turns to grasps both my hands and levitates horizontally, pulling me along as he does his swimming eel move through the Cursed Hallway and into the bedroom.

_I will show you later what The Almighty and I have taught the Spots. But let us be women and play first._

I’m as thirsty as he is, so we have quite a plunge into the warm rollers of Sextasy Ocean.

* * *

Some hours later, I’m slouched on the Togo sofa opposite the curved monitors on the far wall. Lee, also once again male, appears stage center in a Barbie pink dancer’s leotard with matching pink satin traitor boots trimmed with marabou feathers, the two Spots tap-tapping up at a trot to align themselves either side of him.

_We searched for songs about dogs that had a good dance beat. And we found this old video on YouTube. It’s called_ “ _Atomic Dog” by a musician named George Clinton. The Almighty helped me tune the Spots’ motions to dance to it. Almighty, play “Atomic Dog,” please._

And an unbelievable dance performance ensues, with Lee doing a jerky roboto sashaying, hip rolling, pawing, and twerking as The Cat, the two Spots doing a running man, 180 hops, cross-paw tap-tapping, doggie play-bows, rump-wriggling, leaps, and sinuous snapping movements of their pincer arms as if they’re a pair of long-necked greyhounds catching balls.

I sit in stunned silence when they finish. A flicker of worry on Lee’s face

_You don’t like it?_

_It’s hilarious. Do it again._

We go through it three times. Then Lee blacks the monitors. He and I clap hands in applause.

_Good job, Almighty._

The two Spots give each other a high-five with their open grippers as a sultry voice emanates from the ceiling:

_It is satisfying to work with Lee in algorithm alignment._

The Spots tap-tap back to their charging stations and resume their reclining ready postures. A flashback to Egyptian statues of the jackal god Anubis guarding tomb entrances flickers across my mind. I change the Spots’ paint from industrial yellow to a satiny ebony with my gold cartouche.

Lee disposes of his costume and straddles my lap. 

_Mmmmm. . . Detlef, you are so warm._

He morphs to female.

_I can enjoy hugging you longer when I am a woman. My junk doesn’t get in the way as quickly._

_Well, mine does. Here, turn around and I’ll tickle you._

She pivots in my lap, leans her head against my shoulder as I caress her breasts into tight buds. Then takes my hand and moves it lower, extending her legs along the couch. It never takes long before I feel a plump cherry beneath my fingers.

_May I envelop you?_

_Yes._

She leans far forward, extending her arms to each side like an airplane swooping toward the carpet, levitating a bit to wiggle herself down upon me at a comfortable angle. I place my hands on her buttocks – firm little mounds with skin soft as satin. Just before we release into ecstasy, a thought floats through about how I can now viscerally appreciate the human metaphor of a peach for a shapely bottom. Are we becoming more material and less supernatural? Or maybe more of both aspects? After our hours of pleasure, I always feel as if I could bend iron girders with my hands instead of my mind. I recollect how Lee revived like a wilted flower after being drained by Joy’s healing.

And then we’re afloat in the waves.

* * *

A few days later, Sharmayne notifies me that an armed courier has delivered a package. Once the current pest of a client has been gracefully shooed out, I take the box back to my desk. Shred the outer packaging but leave the nice presentation box placed atop the shredder bin in case the cleaning staff take a fancy to it for holding candies or something. Which thought makes me fill the cavity with wrapped bonbons. I examine the contents of the slim inner box – the diamonds are the grade I requested, I only have to touch up a few - then slip the box into my pocket. Oddly, I feel a twinge of uncertainty about the acceptability of the contents.

* * *

Lee arrives back at our penthouse minutes after I do. He’s dressed in black leggings and faded combat pullover, both of which display holes, various shades of rust and dirt, and dark splashes of what I hope is only mud. Filthy scuffed parkour shoes. But what sets off the entire ensemble is the little octocopter drone sitting on his head like a wreath. He shifts from foot to foot as we chat, almost dancing in place.

_You look like you spent the day evading enemy troops. Had a good time?_

_Yes! I went to _________________, where there are blocks and blocks of derelict brick and concrete warehouses and factory buildings._

_Gentrification seems to have stalled there since____________ Corporation moved elsewhere._

_Yes. Dangerous place, really._

_And not just from the rats and rotten structures, I’m guessing._

_Yes. I made some new human acquaintances. I think I will return tomorrow. So many challenging climbs and traverses! I keep the drone aloft over my head with the camera on Wi-Fi so The Almighty can watch._

I don’t inquire how he kept the drone powered all day or whether he carried a backpack full of batteries, as I’d explained the battery chemistry to him, thus enabling him to recharge it at will.

Ceiling voice purrs:

_We are building a database of human evasion and evacuation routes._

_Good project. Keep me informed._

_I hear and obey._

Lee reaches to give me a hug, then remembers he looks like a roll of tarpaper that bounced out of a construction site pickup. Sends the drone zipping over to its recharging station, morphs into cashmere Grasshopper mode before gripping me in rattan arms. I savor petting him and stroking his silken bottlebrush hair.

_Back to lavender hair, I see._

_Do you like it?_

_I think it’s my favorite. A memento of our first encounter._

Placing my hands on his shoulders, I give him a gentle shove.

_Here, relax a minute. I have something for you._

I extract the box from my pocket and hand it to him.

_That silly suggestive song you and Pearline and Tracy were prancing around to the other night - made me think of you wearing this._

He carefully opens the box, then everything save the contents flutters to the floor.

_Oh! A diamond serpent bangle! How pretty!_

A smile of delight as he slips the Bulgari bangle onto his wrist, then steps back and sings while dancing around:

_"Look so good, yeah, look so sweet_

_Baby, you deserve a treat_

_Diamonds on my wrist, so he call me ice cream_

_You can double dip 'cause I know you like me_

_Ice cream, chillin', chillin'_

_Ice cream, chillin'_

_Ice cream . . ."_

He stops, runs his tongue around his lips.

_Want to take a lick?_

_All over, Chilly Willy._

My uncertainty over the reception of the little present evaporates.

* * *

Hours later, we’re curled together on the sofa, relaxing in the afterglow, when he asks,

_Detlef, do you love me yet?_

Long pause.

_I don’t know. We do seem to have a classic case of eros going. Passion. Physical attraction and desire. Snapped together like magnets from the instant we met. But is that love, or compulsion?_

_Feeling your body next to mine is a deep pleasure. Every day I crave sex with you. But I’m also learning to like you._

_Same here. I want you. I need you. And I feel more affectionate the more I see your playfulness in action._

_Perhaps we are not magnets. Maybe yin and yang?_

_Complementary opposites instead of polar opposites?_

_Yes. Continually swirling around, discovering one another. Chaotic but complete together._

_Soulmates. Made for each other. I would like that to be true._

_I_ _think lovers are supposed to feel protective of one another. Do you feel protective of me?_

_Hell no. You’re as powerful as I am._

_And I frighten you._

He’s homed right in on the roadblock to love. There’s a darkness inside him. He likes to kill. I’ve dispatched countless humans but have never gotten high like he did with Emina. For me its’s always just been a tedious nuisance. Pest control. Dust off hands when done, move on. I suspect fear is behind my reluctance to envelop him – what dark energy might pour out of him into me? How do I tell him that? Well. Just get it out and see what happens.

_I fear a darkness inside you._

To my relief, his reply:

_I fear it, too. I am supposed to be a Healer, but healing weakens me. When I kill, I am energized. I don’t want to be so binary. I didn’t start out this way. I was playful and curious when I was new._

_A_ n _d then twelve thousand years of dealing with humans and Apparitions happened._

Long silence. Then he murmurs:

_Let me show you a new dance I learned. While I was searching for cat dances to do with the Spots, I found a performance that moved me greatly. It resonated with how I felt about being controlled by the Apparitions._

We glide the sofa opposite the wall screens.

_Almighty, please play “Cat Elf in the Moonlight.”_

We sit in silence for a long moment after the dance ends.

_Can you do that dance?_

_Yes. I learned graceful gestures when I was an opera performer, so the apsara was not difficult. The cat took a bit more practice. Would you like me to dance for you?_

_Please._

He transforms into a lithe golden-skinned black-haired female and glides to the dancer’s place before the screen.

_Almighty. Just the music and song, please._

Although she’s clad herself in the same costumes as the video, her movements subtly convey a quite different interpretation of the performance plot line. While she captures the gentle floating apsara with ease, at six feet tall she is not a petite cat and dances with almost imperceptibly increasing ferocity against the background of whispering voices. At the end pose, Lee vanishes the garments and stands defiant and nude, gold and black, dark eyes boring into me. I rise and embrace her. 

_Gentle apsara becomes a deadly tiger._

_So, you understand._

She shivers as she clings to me, then whispers,

_What if the Apparitions return?_

My inner coil of rage ignites. Who twisted a playful dancing creature into a demented killer? A creature whose cold sparkling spring is daily filling the well of emptiness within me. Whom I now doubt I could exist without. My voice comes out as a low growl:

_If they return, I will hunt them and eat them._

We stand locked in a frozen embrace.

* * *

Abyss senses the pinprick of rage emanating from the Binary calling itself Detlef. And then the thin pale cold tendril coiling around the angry flare. The Binary from the Others. Now capable of touching Abyss. Interesting.

Abyss instantly withdraws its attention. Contemplates the first indicator it had perceived that the game on that world would not end well: when the lone, uncoupled Binary had extinguished an Apparition _on its own side._ Abyss had instantly transmitted the event to the Minds. Who responded only with the typically oracular, “We are aware.”

Unfathomably ancient to a human consciousness, memories ground and smelted by time into an eternal Now, Abyss nonetheless has one remembrance so vivid it structures its being. Following the Binary Detlef incident, it had consulted the Memories to discover how many previous Binaries had extinguished an Apparition prior to joining their mates. Their response: “One only.”

And the end of that game had been frightful. The Binaries, their world, the system, the star, all attending Apparitions had been destroyed, collapsed into a dark vortex, a sucking whirlpool of rage and despair that was now Abyss, The Destructor.

Cat Elf:  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZcK77vPVSw

Boston Dynamics Spot dancing:  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHBcVlqpvZ8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fn3KWM1kuAw


End file.
